An Occurrence at Allerdale Hall
by Natasha Vera
Summary: What if Thomas had lived? Would he have taken his wife Edith and run away? Not likely. He's guilty of murder, fraud, and incest and the world knows it. For justice to be served, he must be tried and hanged for his crimes. But Edith will not let him. Despite their rocky start, Edith will stop at nothing to rescue him from the noose, even if it means hurtling into her nightmare.
1. Chapter 1

_So, this story has been up for a year now and has been nicely reviewed. It brought me much joy in the writing of it buuut... the one thing I cannot stand when reading other fanfictions are plot holes, bad/incomplete grammar, and missing/misspelled words. When rereading this story, I found plot holes, bad/incomplete grammar, and missing/misspelled words, prompting me to go back and fix what I and some reviewers didn't like. I added more detail, but kept the overall story. Enjoy!_

An Occurrence at Allerdale Hall

By N. Vera

PART I

Chapter One

Allerdale Hall

Cumberland, North Yorkshire, England

Edith did not walk so much as collapse in a forward direction as she aimed herself toward the staircase, aware that Lucille still lived. The stairs canted crazily and she knew she would not survive a second fall. She had to live, she had to stop them. If she could have set the house ablaze she would have, and died inside if it meant that Thomas and Lucille would be destroyed.

And then she saw him coming at her, and she tried to scream. Thomas held out his palms in a gesture of innocence, surrender. "Edith, wait!"

She only hesitated because she was too wobbly to move.

"You cannot take the steps," He said. "You have to use the elevator. Come with me."

She raised her pen, her weapon as his face blurred and her lips curled to a snarl. "You lied to me!" She hissed.

"I did," He confessed, holding open his arms.

"You, poisoned, me!"

"I did."

"You told me you loved me!"

"I do!" His voice cried desperately, surrendering hands shooting out to take her shoulders. His face snapped into sharp focus and she saw the truth: He did love her. He had, and he loved her still.

She staggered, and he steadied her, holding her in an embrace like a waltz… a dance of death. Night's candles were all burned out. He had drawn not a moth but a butterfly to his flame, and she hovered on the brink of annihilation.

"I will take you to McMichael," He told her quickly. "He is still alive." He nodded as if to make sure his words were registering. Edith was overwhelmed. Alan! So Thomas had found a way to spare him? "You can leave through the throw shaft or a secondary the miners made to get in and out without using the elevator. I will deal with Lucille." At the eleventh hour, a hero. Not a knight in shining armor, but someone who had finally seen the light. Who ever said that love was blind?

They hobbled into the elevator, she leaning against him. It was almost over. They had to get Alan to a doctor as fast as possible, and the village was far away. But with Thomas on their side, his chances were ever so much better.

He looked at the pen in her shaking fist and his face changed. "Wait, you signed the papers?"

"I don't care about that," She said, "Come with us."

"No. It's your entire fortune," He insisted, face darting from her to his sister's bedchamber. Edith winced, but understood that he believed his sister would outlive him, plunder her wealth, and then kill her. His face frightened Edith; in this haunted house, was Lucille somehow indestructible? Immortal?

"I will get them back," He said. "I'm going to finish this. Stay here."

He had that look upon his features, that narrow eyebrowed, single minded look that always befell him when he was working on his harvesting machine. No! Edith thought, Lucille will hurt him! Break him and keep him in the master bed like she did with their mother and with me. "Thomas!" Edith panted, reaching out to him with her free hand.

He rushed to her in the elevator, having to reach around her waist to pull her entire body upright so that his lips could swoop down and collide with hers. Edith kissed him, her dark knight, with a fervor that she had only bestowed upon him once, in a cramped room that smelled of sawdust and mushrooms. He kissed her back with the same passion of that moment long ago, a moment stolen from his lover Lucille and gifted to Edith his wife.

The only thing that disrupted their tenderness was the elevator jolting downwards, the cords giving slack and carrying them to the bleeding heart of Allerdale Hall.

Thomas looked around in a panic, seeing Edith's hand with its golden extension fall from the elevator lever, the fingers of her other hand laced into his shirt partly due to her instability and her tired eyes warm, the other part to keep him with her as they descended.

"What are you doing?" Thomas nearly screamed. "Your money! Edith, Lucille will squander it!"

Edith shook her head, "Hang it, Thomas! Come with us, come with me!" He hesitated, eyes rolling up to the hood of the cab. "I need you." Edith confided, making him look down to her. "I need you in my future."

He inhaled, then pulled her into his chest and arms, his chin resting on the crown of her head. "They will hang me." He whispered. "I will be hanged for what I have done."

Edith held him tighter, her tears seeping into his shirt. She would think of that later. For now, the most important issue was getting out of this godforsaken house.

Darkness surrounded them as they descended into the damp, dank clay mines oozing at the sides with claret colored muck. The elevator stopped at its usual two feet before flush and Thomas jumped out, turning back immediately to sweep Edith off her exhausted feet and rush her down the aisle of vats bubbling with clay to a shadowed corner where Edith could see the vague outline of a man crumpled and…

"Alan! No!" Edith squirmed in Thomas's arms and he let her down slowly, careful with her broken leg. Edith limped to the faint outline of her childhood friend, scanning his body for signs of life and severity of his wounds, even if she did not know what to look for. She fell to her knees as best she could with her broken leg and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him from the bone white tiles and making his head loll. "Alan…?" The blood under his armpit had congealed, and his skin was frigid to touch. His eyes were sealed shut, but the breath from his nose came hot and slow. Edith whirled around to Thomas who stood behind her a short distance away. "He's alive!"

Thomas exhaled, obviously relieved. "Can you walk on your own?"

"I can manage."

"Good. Wait here, I will open the shaft and carry him out to the stables." He turned his heel and rushed to a far corner where the darkness enveloped him like a hand over a candle.

Edith turned back to Alan and shook him gently, doing her best to rouse him. "Alan! Alan, can you hear me? Come on, pirate! Wake for me!"

His eyelids fluttered and his lips murmured something incoherent. Then, "Edith?"

"Yes, Alan. It's me."

"Sir Thomas…"

"He's going to help us, Alan. He's gone to open the shaft and help us out-"

The elevator rattled and moved upward to the house. Thomas shot into view as though he were one of the specters of his wives, eyes wide and chest heaving. His eyes met Edith's at the same time: the elevator was answering Lucille's summons.

Without words, Edith wobbled to her feet as Thomas attacked Alan's free, uninjured arm and threw it over his shoulders, hoisting Alan to unstable feet. Edith hobbled to Alan's other side and doing likewise to help support her friend, finding that in such a position she could move faster because she was supported.

Then she looked up and saw a staircase more frightening than the one she had dared to think to descend earlier. A long flight of wooden stairs ascended to a clean white opening, but not before the clay walls stained the wood supports and the stairs, giving Edith the impression of an esophagus and they were the tonsils to be removed. "We must climb it?"

"It leads closer to the stables than the front door." Thomas panted, giving her a look as though he was equally enthused as she was of the prospect of carrying a half dead man and very sick woman up a flight of stairs. "Besides, I used to use this shaft to escape Lucille on occasion. She does not know it is here, or that I've used it."

They moved as a broken unit, their eyes fixed upon the opening like moths to a flame. Only this flame would not burn them. This flame meant freedom, a doctor, and a guarantee that Edith would never have to see the inside of Allerdale Hall ever again.

"Stay with us, Doctor McMichael." She heard Thomas whisper to Alan. "Edith needs you. She still needs you to rescue her."

Edith used as much of her good leg as possible, but it was painful to ignore her bad leg as she felt the bone bounce in and out of place, and even more so with every stomp required to keep it in place. The stairs, She thought, Once we are away from the stairs, I'll be fine. But getting up these wretched stairs, though.

Perhaps if they were all in good health, the walk up would not have been a worry. But as two of them were nowhere close to being considered healthy, the climb took a lifetime. Edith kept looking around, straining her ears to listen for Lucille. They heard her at one point, her shrill voice screaming out from the clay vats, "Thomas! Thomas!" But the man in question ignored her, gritting his teeth and moving Alan forward through the dank crimson throat to the outside. Finally, they reached the steel grate that sealed the opening and Thomas urged Edith to open it. She hobbled, nearly falling on her face, to the latch and slid it back, pushing herself with all her strength forward so that the grate swung open with a great whine.

The bitter wind was first to greet them, slapping Edith's face with strands of her own hair and claws of ice. Immediately, Edith longed for a coat and shoes, but such was an impossible yearning. She whirled back around, biting her lip to keep her teeth from chattering.

Alan jolted with sudden vigor, bright blue eyes blinking in the muted sun. "Stay calm, Doctor McMichael," Thomas told him. "We're not safe, yet."

"Edith," Alan nearly moaned, "You have, no shoes."

"I'll be alright, Alan." She rushed back to him, helping Thomas pull him from the steep downgrade that could swallow them back up again if they were not careful. They hobbled together, faster now that they had no pressures working against them except for the bitter wind, toward the stables. The ground was covered in snow, yet a ring surrounded the house like a halo, a great bloody halo of claret colored clay seeping up and emphasizing their steps.

Edith felt a pull upon her back, a great touchless pull that seemed more electric than physical. Carefully balancing Alan and her wounded leg, Edith turned around to the house.

A figure stood on the front steps, clad in a white nightgown and olive green housecoat stained with blood on the chest, black hair floating around her shoulders: Lucille.

"Thomas!" Edith shrieked.

He whirled around, clutching Alan close, and his face contorted with sheer terror. "Let's go! Now!"

Lucille burst into a run, knife in hand.

They hobbled faster to the stables, Thomas kicking open the doors and frightening the horse. He shoved Alan onto a pile of hay and ran to the tall beast, cooing and coaxing it to settle and calm enough to fasten it into a harness. Edith rushed to the barn doors and swung them closed on the cantering woman, pulling the bolt into place. She stepped back, knowing that the doors would have to be opened to get the carriage out, but that mattered little at this point. For now, they were safe.

Lucille banged on the doors, screaming obscenities at Edith and Thomas before switching to lover-like coaxes to Thomas, begging him to admit her. Thomas ignored her, occupied with the harnessing of the horse to care about his sister. Edith looked around the stables she had never been inside. It was made of stone, providing them good cover from the outside wind, but chilling them even further than an icebox. A great stone oven stood in the heart of the stables, but it seemed like ages had passed before it had seen fuel for a fire. Edith also noted that this stable could have held up to six horses and three carriages if they were the basic two to three seater carriage that Thomas was busy readying. On one corner, the one with the necessities for the current horse, Edith spied two woolen horse blankets and rushed to them, throwing one over Alan and one, a thinner one, over herself.

Edith gasped, sweat catching up with her slowing heart. Her feet were sore from walking in the snow and caked in claret colored mud to the ankles, the hem of her nightgown red as well. Thomas's boots were covered in red and snow, his fingers bright with Alan's blood and with the cold. He worked furiously, doing all that he could and as fast as he could to harness the nervous horse.

"What the devil are you doing?!"

Edith's heart stopped and she whirled around, seeing Lucille march in from one of the horse entrances to the back of the stable, eyes focused on Thomas. Alan shifted, seeing his murderess before him. Lucille tore her gaze from her brother to her victim, then back again. "You were supposed to kill him!"

Thomas dropped the latching reins and approached her. "Lucille, you're injured."

She brandished her knife at him, him of all people. Her eyes glinted, but her jaw was set. He appeared to know that look. Edith watched them from Alan's side, did that look mean she would kill him, too? "Stay where you are." Lucille hissed at Thomas.

Thomas drew himself up to full height, the tall handsome knight and master of Allerdale Hall. "They will live. You are not to touch her."

Her lips parted as she held out the knife. Edith looked to Thomas, he seemed physically hurt that she would threaten him. "You're ordering me now?!"

"We can leave, Lucille." He said softly, begging. "Leave Allerdale Hall. We can free ourselves from this horrible legacy-"

"Leave?" She shook her head as though the word was as foreign as Greek.

"Yes, my love." He breathed. "Fly away from here. Wings are not just upon butterflies and moths, my sweet. Gargoyles can fly away, too. Don't you want that, Lucille? Don't you want to start over again?" He took a step forward, Edith brooked no argument though with each pet name he called her she felt like she had been stabbed.

"Think about it," He continued. "We have enough money left. We can start a new life."

Her knife lowered a fraction. "Where? Where could we go?"

Edith's heart skipped a beat. She was considering leaving.

"Anywhere you like." Thomas smiled, "We can leave it all behind."

"Anywhere," She dropped her arm, eyes on the straw on the ground. She repeated the word as though the prospect were holding her from jumping over a great precipice.

Thomas appeared elated, doing all that he could to keep from jumping through the roof. Edith straightened, too. There was hope that she would let them go.

"Let the Sharpe name die with the mines. Let this edifice sink in the ground." He swept his arm toward the direction of the house. "All these years of holding up the rotting walls, all the time and money and lies spent keeping it up. We would be free of it, Lucille. Free of all this horrible business. We can all be together-"

"All?"

Edith felt like she had fallen into a frozen lake, and by the look of it, so did Thomas.

Lucille turned murderous eyes on Edith, the grip on her knife tightening. "Do you love her?" She shrieked, raising the knife once more whirling back to her brother.

The agony upon her face was excruciating. Lucille seemed to realize now that the heirloom garnet ring on her wedding finger meant nothing. She was not married to Thomas anymore in his affection than if by law. Edith had stolen him away with her love and defiance and wild imagination. "After all I've done for you?" She screamed, "I've taken the cane, his riding crop! I gave you my body, my child! I killed for you! And you…!" She could not make herself say the words. "Do you love her?!"

Fear was etched in every inch of Thomas's face, but his voice was unwavering. "This day had to come, Lucille."

"Do you love her?" Lucille screamed. "Tell me! Do you?"

Thomas lifted his chin, his affection gone. "We've been dead for years, Lucille. You and I in this rotting place… with our accursed name. We are ghosts."

What color was left in Lucille's face drained away like an hour glass. She shook her head, eyes moving up and down his body. He was a stranger to her. "Do you love her more than me?"

"She is life, life, Lucillle." He looked to Edith, eyes filled with hope, then turned back to his sister. "And you won't stop us."

Edith swelled with pride. Her dark knight, her godsend.

"You promised! We promised we would not—that you would not fall in love with anyone else!"

They knew she was unstable. They knew she would not reserve herself from falling over the precipice. But Thomas spoke the gospel of his heart anyways, "But, I did."

At first, Edith thought Lucille had gone into shock by the way she looked horrified, but didn't move an inch even to breathe.

When she flew at Thomas, no one saw it for it happened in the pause to blink, but everyone saw what she did. Her knife was lodged in Thomas's chest, stopped by bones. He stared at her in shock, unable to comprehend what she had just done. Lucille jerked her knife from his body and hoisted it over her head to repeat the motion.

Edith flew at her, knocking her down with all her might.

"Edith!" Alan and Thomas shouted.

They wrestled for the knife, except Edith's vision kept waning and focusing at random intervals making it even harder. Lucille struggled with Edith's body weight on top of her, the knife having been knocked out of her hand with her fall. Thomas ran to the sliver of bloodied metal, wincing as he bent to pick it up. With the knife securely in hand, Thomas pried Edith from Lucille, receiving for it a flurry of punches and scratches to his face and hair. Edith attacked her, pulling Lucille from Thomas to focus on her.

I'm the one you want! Edith thought, Not him!

Lucille grabbed a handful of Edith's hair with one hand, turning her back on Thomas, and stabbed the nail of her thumb into Edith's eye. Edith screamed as Thomas threw her off from Lucille. Freed from her distraction, Lucille clawed at Thomas's face, drawing blood upon his cheekbone and pulling a tuft of hair from his scalp, searching desperately for her knife.

Thomas gave it to her, blade first, into her stomach to the hilt.

Lucille's scrambling stopped, her pale face going paler. She lifted her blue eyes to her brother who yanked from her the knife. "Thomas?" She whimpered.

Edith jolted nearly out of her skin and moved her working eye to her left leg where Alan had crawled across the stable floor to aid in her fight, but now was there to comfort her. "Are you alright?" He panted.

Edith moved to wrap herself around him. "It's almost over, Alan." She whispered. "It's almost over."

Thomas stepped away from his sister lover, his eyes cold, his face sad. She looked up at him, her lips begging his love. He gave her none, even when she whispered again, "Thomas?"

He gripped the knife and raised it, cutting it across her throat so that a gushing crimson line formed. He dropped the knife, grabbing her shoulders as she fell and laid her back as she gargled and choked on her own blood. He held her close and from his own throat a tender baritone sang the lullaby Lucille liked to play on her piano and sing into his ear.

 _"Let the wind blow kindly_  
 _In the sail of your dreams_  
 _And the moonlight your journey_  
 _And bring you to me_  
 _We can't live in the mountains_  
 _We can't live out at sea_  
 _Where oh, where oh, my lover_  
 _Shall I come to thee?"_

Lucille panted, wincing in his arms as life drained from her.

Edith could not help but feel herself ache for the tenderness displayed before her as Lucille's body slackened and her head lolled onto Thomas's shoulder. Though her eye throbbed terribly, she cried softly with Thomas as he rocked his sister in his arms, pressing his cheek against her forehead, continuing the lullaby as tears coursed down his face. Edith let him mourn; all that he had known, his protector, his provider, now lay dead in his arms.

She stood, coaxing Alan to his feet and guided him as best as she could to the carriage, pushing him in, and making sure he was warm with his rough, wool horse blanket. She felt a touch caress the small of her back and turned, seeing Thomas behind her, tears falling slowly.

"Oh, Thomas!" She flung her arms around his neck.

He was warm, his tears salty, but he was alive and willing to help them leave this blood-stained land. "She…" He whispered, "She loved me… so, very much."

"We all do Thomas." Edith told him. "We drive ourselves crazy for you."

"Why?" He faced her. "Why do you love me so much?"

"I don't know, Thomas." Edith whispered. "Someday we'll figure it out. Together."

"Edith," Alan called from the carriage.

She tore her gaze away from her husband back to her childhood friend. "We are coming, Alan!" She looked back at Thomas, noticing a shadow cross his face for a moment, before disappearing into his raven hair.

"Get in the carriage," He whispered. "I'll get the horse. Tuck yourself up warm."

Edith obeyed, hobbling to pick up her thinner horse blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. In minutes, Thomas slid the bolt of the stable doors open and led the horse and carriage out into the snow. Shoulders hunched, chest stained with blood, he shivered in the cold as he moved slowly back to the driver's seat next to his wife. Edith thought that he looked relieved to be free of his sister's control, and almost happy to be owning up to his indiscretions. When he seated himself to take the reins from her, she held on, forcing him to look at her. She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, hugging him tightly and sliding the reins onto his lap. He touched her chin, rubbing his thumb against her jaw.

Slowly, he cast his eyes down, took the reins with a warm squeeze, and flicked them, sending the carriage forward into the snow. Edith did not dare to look back, though she had a strange longing to. That ugly, decaying house that allowed leaves and snowfall into it's foyer, the rotting walls of everything but the Master Bedroom as though blatantly telling her that everything within was a lie. They passed under the entry gate, reading the iron letters that spelled out "Allerdale Hall" backwards.

They couldn't go back, now.

 _Please Review!_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Village of Redsett, 15 miles from Allerdale City

Thomas pulled on the reins of the horse, drawing the carriage to a complete halt before the village doctor's office. It was pitch black in the village, but from behind them, a light purple haze began to stain the darkness. Thomas handed the reins off to Edith before bounding off the driver's seat and flying up the stairs of the doctor's office staircase to the upper room apartment and banged frantically on the door. "Help! We need a doctor! Please, someone help!"

Edith wrapped the thin blanket across her chest and legs, doing her best to send feeling down to her toes. She had tried to pull them up to the seat with her on the journey, but her broken leg quickly discouraged that. Thomas had rejected the blanket that she wrapped around him, promising that he could bear the bitter wind and snow in favor of saving her feet, but his own wound in his chest began bleeding again, forcing Edith to persuade him to use his portion to stem the blood flow.

She looked up to the apartment, seeing an older man with salty dusted brown hair and handlebar moustaches drawing closed a dressing gown. Thomas sputtered his reasoning for the rude awakening, waving away the doctor's immediate attraction toward his wound like an annoying fly rather than moth to a lamp. Thomas gestured to the carriage before hurrying down, prompting the doctor to yell back into the apartment and jump up and down above the office door, prompting a rather large nurse in a dark blue uniform and white cap to open the office door and peer upward. Thomas blocked the view before seeing the doctor yell down at his nurse.

Before even touching Alan, Thomas lifted a finger to his nose to make sure that he hadn't died on the way over. Seeing that Alan was still breathing, Thomas grabbed Alan's shoulders and pulled him from the carriage, the muscular nurse catching Alan's legs before they hit the ground.

"Edith," Alan panted. "What about… Edith?"

"I'll return for her in a moment." Thomas assured him, wind carrying his voice to Edith, "Once we get you situated, I will come for her." Edith couldn't help but feel a pang of selfish relief.

The Doctor rushed to the carriage, peering at Edith. "Hullo, Lady Sharpe. How may I assist you?" His eyes scanned her face.

"I'm sick." She told him, "I've, been poisoned. And my leg…" She opened the blanket to show him.

He took one look at her feet and his face lit up with alarm, moustaches knitting furiously. "Come along, Lady Sharpe. We must get you out of this cold." He reached for her and she did her best to slide to him, a difficult task when she could barely feel her toes. He grabbed her hand the moment Thomas came out to fetch her, pulling her to the edge with arms of familiarity.

"Sir Sharpe, you are bleeding yourself."

"I can take her," He panted, taking her from the carriage and moving her quickly into the warmth of the Doctor's office. Edith burrowed into Thomas's neck, her love for him pounding in sync to her concern for his health. She was his cross to bear and no one could convince him otherwise. Not even the trail of red drops the size of firethorn berries in the snow following him. Once inside the office, Edith could that the decently sized space was divided into three portions: a general office, a surgery to the back, and a recovery room with a fleet of beds behind a curtain where one patient could be seen sitting up and watching them come in.

"Just over here, Sir Sharpe!" The Doctor gestured to the first bed across from the curious patient. "Nurse! Boil the great pot, quick! This one just might lose her feet if we don't warm them up."

Thomas set her down on the bed and stood straight as the Doctor sat at her side, taking her splint leg into his hands for examining. "She's also been poisoned," Thomas exhaled, "Firethorn berries given daily in small doses over the course of three months."

The Doctor looked at him, "Firethorn?"

A young man with blond hair and glasses, the Doctor's apprentice, poked his head out of the surgery. "Doctor, you've got to come for this one. Massive blood loss and I'm afraid the lung has been knicked by the blade."

The Doctor looked from his apprentice to Edith. "What do you need me to do?" Thomas asked, rolling up his sleeves.

The Doctor looked once to Thomas's wound and shrugged slightly; surrender. "Go to the chemist, tell him you need the charcoal for a poisoning case and tell him to charge it on Doctor Turner's office. Blake!" The blond apprentice popped his head out as the Doctor stood, "Prepare for surgery! Nurse Fox! See to it that Lady Sharpe is well taken care of."

"Yes, Doctor Turner." The Nurse called over her shoulder, gathering items from a cabinet near the stove.

Thomas nodded, but looked back to Edith one last time before shooting out of the office to the chemist. The Nurse arrived with a steaming pot of water and set it on the floor before Edith's feet. "Into the water, Lady Sharpe." She said, gently taking Edith's ankles and dipping them one by one into the pot while the Doctor disappeared.

Edith cried out at the sting of the hot water on her flesh. She lolled her head back on her shoulders before looking down into the water. With a gasp, she realized that only her ankles felt the pain, not her toes. She rubbed her hands together as fast as she could, suspending them above the warm water for the heat.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Nurse Fox cooed, taking the uncomfortable horse blanket and replacing it with a more comfortable, heavy cotton one.

"Lucille," Edith told her, adjusting the blanket to close better. "It was all Lucille. She nearly killed Alan. She was giving me poison in the tea. She wanted to keep Thomas to herself."

"Lady Lucille?" Nurse Fox asked, looking at her. She had green eyes. "That cannot be, Lady Sharpe. She's far too timid to commit such an act."

Edith shrank further into the blanket while her toes throbbed with revival. Her brother helped her, Edith thought. But he saved us. "He saved us," Edith whispered to the water. "He hid Alan and came back for me. He killed Lucille because she was trying to kill us. He saved us."

Nurse Fox nodded, leaving Edith to her own thoughts to stoke the oven where a gigantic pot of water boiled next to a kettle. Edith's stomach stabbed at her, the same stabbing that she had become familiar with the last few weeks. Her vision blurred, "Oh God."

A tapping of shoes against the wooden floor sounded like a drumroll, but Edith welcomed the porcelain basin thrust before her lips, showing her gratitude by vomiting blood. Nurse Fox balanced the basin on one arm, while with the other, she seized Edith's blonde hair and twisted it in her hand to hold it back. When Edith spat her last, Nurse Fox slid the basin under the bed and leaned Edith back onto the pillows, wrapping her feet in a towel at the end of the bed just as Thomas arrived carrying a wooden crate of black bottles that clinked together as he staggered in.

"Over here," Nurse Fox commanded, gesturing to the floor on Edith's other side. Thomas obeyed, doing his best to set the crate down gently, but it was difficult. His wound was bleeding fresh if it had ever stopped since arrival into the village, and his usually pale skin had gone paler, black rings forming under his eyes. "Onto the bed, please Sir Sharpe." Nurse Fox ordered as she covered Edith with the warm blanket up to her collarbone.

"I can, help." Thomas panted, taking a seat despite his rebuttal. "I can…"

"Alright, then. Sit there and stop bleeding on my floors!" Nurse Fox rushed into the general office and grabbed an ordinary wooden box before rushing back to Thomas. From this box, she withdrew almost a yard of gauze and an equally long roll of dressing. "Please, remove your shirt so I can dress the wound."

Thomas did as best as he could. He slid off his suspenders, and unbuttoned his shirt with slow, unfocused fingers, prompting Nurse Fox to grab handfuls of the blood-soaked fabric and lift it over his head. Half of his chest was coated in dried and wet blood, the other half clean and toned, but pale beyond anything Edith had seen. Nurse Fox tutted the sight and hurried to the pot of boiling water and ladled steaming water into a small copper bowl that she conjured seemingly out of thin air. Returning to Thomas, she dipped a portion of the dressing into the water and used it to clean away the dried blood around the wound. Quickly she worked, cleaning the area before taking both hands and squeezing one hand over the wound with the dressing and one directly behind his back, prompting Thomas to hiss through clenched teeth and pant heavily.

"That's it, Sir Sharpe." Nurse Fox cooed, "Let it out. You've been through much, today." Edith smiled at the sight, feeling gladness in her tired body that Thomas was getting the attention he needed.

"What can I do, Nurse Fox?" The patient they had all forgotten, one with a broken arm tied in a sling over his chest, asked.

"What're you doing out of bed, Harold?" Nurse Fox demanded, not relieving the pressure on Thomas's wound.

Harold half shrugged, "I figured if the good Baronet can hike it to the chemist's with a bleeding chest, I could do something to help the Lady." He gestured to Edith with a slight nod of his forehead.

Nurse Fox slid the wooden crate of black bottles to him with her foot, the bottles rattling. "Take one of these and pour it into a teacup, give it to Lady Sharpe. Lady Sharpe?" Her tone was soft as Harold took to his task. "This is a liquid that will help cure your poisoning, but you have to drink it. It will be bitter tasting and you'll want to throw it up, but you cannot do that. You must drink it all."

"That's alright, Nurse." Thomas breathed, looking to Edith. "She's had practice drinking bitter teas."

Edith looked to him, and smiled, shaking her head.

AHAHAH

Alan was in surgery for an hour, consisting primarily of stitches and cleanup both inside and outside. They carried him out to the beds on a cloth stretcher, sliding him onto the bed closest to the stove so that Nurse Fox could keep an eye on him from her desk at the back of the room. Edith had drunk the teacup of charcoal Harold had poured for her. One touch of the liquid to her lips and she was ready to throw up again. "Drink, Edith." Thomas sighed, his eyelids drooping. "Do it, for, Alan."

Edith had nodded. Alan nearly died trying to save her, she could drink the horrible solution. So, hiding her reluctance, she had gulped the thick black liquid, choking and sputtering, spewing flecks of ebony onto the blankets. Tears had coursed from her eyes as her throat had burned like she had swallowed hot coals. Her stomach had churned as though a cat were trying to burst from it and her head had throbbed like a marching band, thunking and thudding without end.

Thomas watched her from his bed next to her, beads of sweat upon his forehead. Nurse Fox stitched and dressed his wound and bade him to rest, but he leaned against the wooden headrest watching his wife, his face the portrait of tired misery. "Are you alright?" He breathed, watching her clutch her stomach.

Edith shook her head, too pained to speak.

"I am so sorry, Edith." She turned to look at him. "I hated hurting you. I didn't realize that she had poisoned the porridge I fed you. I wanted you to get better, honestly I did."

As if on cue, Nurse Fox appeared with a cup of tea. "Here you go, Lady Sharpe. Something to take the bitterness away.

Edith looked at it and jolted, digging her head into the pillows. "N-no!" She strained.

"Edith, darling." Thomas cooed, throwing off the blankets and slipping slowly out of bed,

"Edith, its alright." He asked for the cup and sat on the edge of her bed. "Here, look." He took a sip of the tea, then frowned. "Please, might we have, more sugar? She, cannot have anything, more, that is bitter."

Nurse Fox nodded, took a cube of sugar from her desk, and plopped it in. Thomas stirred the contents of the cup, tasting the spoon before nodding. "Here, darling." He pressed the lukewarm china to her lips. "No poison. I promise."

Edith watched him as she permitted a small stream into her mouth. When she focused on Thomas, she could not see a black Cloisonné teacup twinkling in the firelight. She inhaled, parting her lips more at the taste of truth. The delicious cream and touch of bitter black tea was perfect for ridding her of the horrid charcoal, bringing to her mind a time when she and Thomas were still strangers, but very much in love. That time long ago when they first ventured around the streets of London, savoring the newness of their names Sir Thomas and Lady Edith Sharpe. Thomas tipped the teacup upright and Edith gave a small smile, remembering the sun gleaming off the Victoria bridge as she and Thomas sailed under it, arm in arm.

"Now that's a proper cup of British tea." Thomas smirked, yanking Edith back to reality. "More?"

She looked at him and nodded. As he gently fed her her tea, ignoring his own pain, she realized that she still knew next to nothing about this handsome stranger. Except perhaps that he was rather tired, and was ready to fall forward onto her lap. But, he did not flinch nor sway while he held that first cup. He doted on her with a half a smile, the most he was able to form in his exhaustion, making Edith nod as she swallowed. She would give him another chance.

AHAHAH

Edith remembered waking, not falling asleep. Perhaps it was after her third cup of charcoal and cream tea, or maybe after she threw it all up over Nurse Fox's shoes? She couldn't remember, just waking in the middle of the night and sitting straight up in her bed, her stomach churning but not hurting for the first time in weeks. She looked over and saw Thomas asleep in his own bed, peaceful in his slumber. Bitterness crept from her tongue to her core, her chest compressing as well. Now, when his sister is dead he's next to me, She thought. She stole him from our bed. She tore him apart on the inside like a poison.

He adjusted, his eyes opening a fraction. "Edith," He yawned. "You're awake?"

She nodded, "Yes."

"Do you require anything, my darling?" He sat up, revealing to her that he had not replaced his shirt.

She shook her head. "No, Thomas." She laid back down on her bed, moving to her side so that she could look at him, he doing likewise in a more ginger movement. "Did you love her?" Edith whispered, "Please, tell me the truth. You laid with her, she bore you a child. Did you truly love her? As a husband would love a wife?"

The sadness returned to his face, but so did another look: relief. "There was a time when I would have said yes. We were children, Edith. Beaten and unloved by our parents, all we had was each other to know of friendship, and yes, love." He paused, then confessed, "I did it the first time because I felt guilty that she took the grunt of the punishments for me. Of ten beatings, I only ever received one. She touched me… encouraging me to perform what we saw in the fore edge books. She said it was the least I could do for her, after all she had done for me." A tear escaped and hid quickly into his pillow. "Sex as you know, feels wonderful, but for myself it faded quickly. I knew my sister and I should not have done it. It was not church or some other's moral laws impressed upon me, I knew within my soul that it was wrong. She told me that I had come onto her, that it was my idea and she was the victim. I was a child, Edith." He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. "She and my father shared that trait. Making their own reality to serve their purpose. I did not want to hurt her feelings; she was always being hurt. She acted the double agent, making me ashamed for wanting sex but delighted in having done the act. I was so utterly confused. The more we did it, the more I was convinced that I was the instigator. I liked it, though, and came to ignore the part of my mind that said that we were committing a grave sin. Lucille was finally happy."

He looked as uncomfortable as Edith felt hearing his narration. He swallowed, and continued. "Then Mama walked in on us." His face clouded, lost in the moment. "Lucille had forgotten to feed her supper, so she wheeled herself up to us to beat her and… Her screams…" Thomas trailed off, his look a thousand miles away. "I'll never forget those screams. All the vile things she called Lucille, all the threats to take me from her. I begged Lucille to leave Mama alone. She was frail, she would have died soon enough without Lucille's help. But I knew, when I heard her scream again, that Lucille was done taking any more beatings. She was done being pried from me.

"I went away to boarding school as all well-bred sons did whilst she was put away in a private hospital in Switzerland. It took her weeks to understand the necessity for my schooling. She berated me violently, making it appear as though I was abandoning her. But then, it was as if, I had become her child and she wanted to protect me." His look hardened, "Her child as well as her lover. And she was a jealous love to satisfy." He turned back to Edith, "She wrote me constantly from the institution when she was permitted to write. Letters that aroused me so much that I would cry out in climax in the night when I dreamed of them. I could show no one; my classmates would have humiliated and alienated me and the headmasters and doctors would have removed me entirely from Lucille. That was unacceptable. She had taken care of me for so long and, as I said, I thought I loved her."

He inhaled, "After schooling was finished, I took Lucille from of the institution. It was her idea to marry wealthy wives and kill them for the money as we had so little left of our inheritance. We needed a form of capital and my machine was but scraps of metal upon the property. I did not have intimate relations with them because…" He exhaled, "Because I did not want to form the same bonds with them as I did with Lucille. They were bound to die, and I did not want to find myself attached to them. Besides, I was convinced that I loved Lucille, she was my only companion. Until you."

Edith felt warmth ebb through her body. "Me?"

Thomas nodded. "You with your brilliant stories. Your cavalier manner of interaction. You were nothing like the stupid little girls who flocked and fluttered at my charm, like Eunice..." He shook his head and looked away for a moment. "You saw the gargoyle in me when others saw a butterfly." He propped himself up on his elbow and turned back to her. "I chose you because I felt like I could escape Lucille. I didn't know it exactly when I met you, but that night at the depot, when I surrendered to you." He bit his lip and smiled, "That was true love and I knew it in every fibre, every heartbeat. It was not a pretense. You were my wife, and I, for the first time, felt like a man. I was your man when she made me her child."

Edith smiled, remembering how he responded to her the day after that beautiful night. How intimate they were without even touching. Edith's smile faded, "Why didn't you tell me the truth after that night, Thomas? Why did we stay in that awful place where you let me continue to be poisoned?"

He looked down. "Lucille." He shouldered the sliding blanket. "I could not forget her. My love was revealed to be a lie, but I could not forget the one who gave me much to be grateful for." He laid back down. "I was focused on my machine; it was nearly ready. If it worked, then there would be no need for your money because I would be making my own. I thought, that if I could finally provide for us, then there was no need to keep poisoning you. We could all live together in a beautiful, refurbished manor. I took the tea from you when I had a chance to be with you, telling you part of the secret. But, Lucille was furious. She hated you for making love to me. I think she fancied herself as my true wife and you and the others as my mistresses. She became creative in handing out her punishments."

"The ring," Edith told him. "The engagement ring you gave me. She tore it from my finger as a sign of validation. She believed that she would be the only Lady Sharpe of Allerdale Hall."

"Forgive me, Edith." Thomas begged, reaching out his hand to touch her. "I did not have the courage to confront her sooner. I vowed to protect you, but I only contributed to your misery."

"You saved us." She reminded him, taking his hand. "At the eleventh hour, you saved us."

"Speaking of 'us,'" He looked over to Alan on the far side of the room, then looked back to Edith. "Do you love him?"

Edith froze, how should she answer him? He was her husband, she was bound to him.

"I give you permission to speak the truth, Lady Sharpe." Thomas sighed, looking wearily at their joined hands.

She inhaled. "Yes. I realized that when he was trying to save me. I love him, but I never saw him as anything more than a childhood friend. He never gave me reason to suspect his affections, either. So, it is not entirely my fault." She smiled at Thomas, "You gave me every reason to hope."

Thomas looked back at her, "I knew that he loved you. From the moment that I saw the two of you at the ball in the McMichael's manor. The way he looked at you when you introduced me to him. He was so obvious he might as have held up a sign. I thought he would take you from me for a moment, but he did not. That was when I knew I needed you."

Edith opened her mouth to reply when her stomach lurched and she shot up, clutching her middle with both hands. Thomas shouted to Nurse Fox who alighted with a jolt and rushed over. Alan stirred, moving his head toward the commotion but said nothing. Thomas slid to his feet just as Nurse Fox placed her hands on Edith's back. "Where does it hurt, Lady Sharp?" She cooed, eyes darting everywhere.

"My-my…!"

Edith felt a fire pulse from her stomach straight to her thighs, almost a clawing sensation through her intestines and out to bloody relief. Thomas grabbed handfuls of the blanket and yanked it off her legs, finding the rest of her nightgown stained crimson from hip to hem.

"Wake Doctor Turner, Sir Sharpe." Nurse Fox instructed, her eyes wide. "Lady Sharpe has just suffered a miscarriage."

AHAHAH

Edith was rushed immediately to the surgery. Thomas was left alone with Alan and Harold on the other side of the room, and an unsightly figure left on Edith's bed. It was a baby, that he could determine. A baby smaller than his forefinger, the only thing that didn't absorb into the bedsheets and matress. He couldn't move to touch it, he couldn't even bring himself to cover it with the sheet. The little figure laid on the bed, head bent as if in prayer.

Nurse Fox's replacement, Nurse Andrews, arrived when Nurse Fox was permitted to leave the surgery to go home. Nurse Andrews was the one to gently cover the baby with a handkerchief and stow it away in a coffin of a wooden cigar box. Thomas collapsed onto his bed, watching Nurse Andrews undo the sheets and laid them in the linen basket for the maid to boil in the morning. "What have I done?" He whispered.

"You're not to be blamed, Sir Sharpe." Nurse Andrews, a pretty young woman with bright blue eyes, cooed. "Most women lose their first babies. I am so sorry that you had to see it, though."

She looked up to a sound that McMichael made and rushed to his side, leaving Thomas alone. He ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand, feeling hollow. He had felt absolutely numb on the ride to the village, but that was likely due to the bitter cold. Now, what did he feel? Loss, that was for certain. The feel of dropping a lead ball into the pit of his stomach, the constant ringing throughout his limbs, yes, he knew loss well. But whom was he missing? Lucille? Of course. He had loved her as both a lover and a sister. Edith? His core rattled all the more at her name. Edith, he had lost her with all the truths he neglected to tell her when there was still time. Proper timing, that was. He had to maintain hope that she would survive surgery. What other losses was he feeling? It was hard to discern the particularities of such a feeling.

The child. Oh yes, the child was the last leg of the stool. But, which one? The most recent one, his and Edith's, or his and Lucille's? Ah, yes. His and Lucille's baby, Giovanni, was the one he most felt for. Edith's baby, the one in the cigar box, they both knew she lost it because of the poison. Giovanni… He needed to tell Edith what had happened to him. What he did to his own son.

"Sir Sharpe?" Nurse Andrews cooed, touching his shoulder. "Doctor McMichael would like to speak with you."

The walk to the headmaster's office was preferable to the walk to McMichael's bedside. Thomas walked, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other rather than the dizziness. He stopped at the foot of the bed, looking down at the pathetic creature that claimed the love of his wife.

"Sir Sharpe, you can get closer-"

"Nurse Andrews," Thomas interrupted, "Would you mind getting us a cup of tea from upstairs? I thought mine was a bit bitter this morning."

She looked at the two men, then conceded. McMichael sat up as best he could, his half-opened eyes chilling Thomas. "What happened to Edith?"

Thomas swallowed. "She was pregnant. She lost the baby due to the poison."

"Is she dead?"

Thomas turned to the surgery, trying to see anything, but they had closed off the curtains.

"Not to my knowledge."

"Good for you, then."

Thomas glared back at him. "She loves you. I have no doubt that when she recovers, she will petition to divorce me and marry you. How on earth can that be good for me? You've got my wife where it matters the most."

McMichael smirked. "It matters, because if you have a prayer of saving your neck from a rather tight tie, then you had best hope that both Edith and I survive for your trial."

Thomas straightened. "I was responsible for the death of my wives, I murdered my sister, I committed fraud. There is no way that I might be pardoned from all of that."

"Yes, there is." McMichael sat up as best he could, only a few inches from the pillow. "You stopped a serial murderess, and you saved your wife and a victim who would have died if he didn't get help right away. Those are enough to skip the gallows and go straight to jail. Edith could provide the perfect testimony for you and so could I, an American doctor who came to rescue her. But, if one of us dies, our death would be used as a catalyst to execute you because you let it happen like the rest." He laid back down.

Thomas looked away, pondering the implications. "Jail, over a hanging."

"That's only if we survive." McMichael sighed, this bout of information seeming to wear him out. "Murder is only murder if there's a dead body."

Jail was not a desirable stint of Thomas's time, but to take that over execution was preferable to say the least. He moved back to his bed in time to see Edith be carried out on a stretcher and placed on a bed closer to the stove, but not exactly adjacent to McMichael's bed. She was as pale as the sheets, asleep, her lips chalk white. He rushed to her side, making certain that she was not pinched as she was lowered onto her bed.

"Its about time we changed your dressing, Sir Sharpe." Nurse Andrews whispered into his ear, pressing a cup of tea into his hands.

He ignored her for a moment, looking at his wife. If she dies, I swing. He thought, But, if she chooses McMichael, I'll die in more ways than at the gallows. The question is, which way can I live with best?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Village of Redsett

Edith awoke to soothing words and a glass of fresh water, followed swiftly by a cup of charcoal. With soft words, Thomas told her about her late-night complications, watching her as she sat on the bed absorbing the revelation that she was that close to becoming a mother. As soon as he knew she was well enough to be left on her own, Thomas ducked out of the doctor's office to the General Store, bringing back a new nightdress and a dressing gown for her to wear. He even bought her a brush and a small looking glass so that she might put up her hair with hairpins. She smiled wearily when he presented them to her, tracing the small white roses embroidered onto the cotton. She still tasted charcoal when she licked her lips, but she felt an inner warmth linger in her core that was strong enough to shine through her body's aches and pains.

When Nurse Andrews left to welcome Nurse Fox, Edith whispered to Thomas, "How did you, pay, for these, Thomas?"

"There is some money left from, well, from Enola's last transfer of funds." He confessed, "It is enough for a comfortable hotel room two blocks away for an extended stay. Perhaps… even a ticket for one to America, if need be."

Edith felt her stomach fall and she lurched forward, thinking she might throw up this latest bout of tea and charcoal. Thomas snatched up her porcelain bowl and attacked her hair, but thankfully, nothing came forth. Edith sighed, "Thank God." She eased herself back onto her pillow.

"That's a good sign, Lady Sharpe." Nurse Fox smiled, touching the back of her hand to her cheek. "You're still a bit shaky, but a good onion broth could be brought up if you're feeling up to it."

Nurse Fox, now that Edith could properly pay attention, was a portly, yet muscular woman with tight, curled brown hair that was pinned up in an even tighter bun, and her smile completed the picture perfectly. In fact, she reminded Edith of an illustration from one of the picture books her mother used to read her before bedtime. Mother Goose, Edith thought, And I'm glad to be her gosling, if even for a day.

"I'm a little hungry," Edith confessed, pausing for a moment to try and discern what her stomach was trying to tell her.

"I'll get you a bit of broth. Sir Sharpe, you'll be next for that dressing." She walked away.

Thomas nodded, his lips mashing to a straight line. Edith laughed softly to herself. Thomas really did not enjoy being manhandled.

The door opened, allowing a strong gust of cool air to sweep through the office and contest with the hot stove. Thomas glanced up to see who entered and jumped up, eyes wide. Edith sat up slightly, stomach preventing her from doing much rising. "Thomas? Darling, what is it?"

He looked at her, visibly uncomfortable. "The village inspector. Here we go."

Edith turned to the door to see a tall man in a black suit wearing a bowler hat with the most striking grey eyes peering out from it. The man tapped Nurse Fox's arm and asked her a low question, removing his hat to reveal a perfectly bald head. She looked at him and told him something, most likely to wait in the general part of the office. Quickly, she shuffled to Thomas's side, "Sir Sharpe, that's the village Inspector for the Magistrate. He wants to talk to you about… Lady Lucille Sharpe."

Edith's heart pounded against her raw chest. She had expected something like this to happen but, so soon? Thomas looked down to her and swallowed. "I'll just be over there," He looked toward the inspector.

She reached out to him, her own hand frightening her with its slowness and its chalky pallor. He took it with his free hand. "Bring him, over." She told him. "I want, to, tell the truth, too."

He nodded and ran a hand through his wild curled hair. "Alright, then. I'll bring him for you."

"Let Lady Sharpe change first," Nurse Fox suggested. "She cannot be seen in our robes when she has a nice one to show her rank."

"Yes," Thomas agreed. "Change, Edith. I'll bring him when you're ready."

With that, Thomas left her and closed the great hanging curtain separating the general office from the beds. As she lifted her arms to be dressed in her new attire, Edith felt nauseated, though not in the manner that Nurse Fox was watching out for. What would happen to Thomas? Would he be taken from her? There had to be an investigation, but did they already inspect Allerdale Hall? Did they find Lucille's body in the stables? Perhaps she had already been taken to the undertaker.

With her new nightgown and dressing gown donned, Nurse Fox quickly plaited Edith's hair back into a French braid that slung over her shoulder like a great blonde tail. "There, you're ready." Nurse Fox beamed. Edith smiled wryly, watching her cross the floor to draw back the curtain and admit the men. Thomas nodded his head to Edith, making her shiver.

"Edith, might I present to you the village magistrate, Mr. Mason. Mr. Mason, this is my wife, Lady Sharpe."

Mr. Mason touched his eyebrow, nodding to Edith. "Forgive me the nae-ture of this investigay-tion, Lay-dy Sharpe." He apologized, his accent a thick, Yorkshire drawl that made Edith lean in slightly to try to interpret him.

"These, are unnatural accusations, Mr. Mason." Edith sighed, fighting to keep her eyes open. "Have you, seen, Lucille?"

"Doctor Turner informed uus of her unfoortunate departure, ma'am. I cahme this moorning froom Allerdale Hall with my repoort of what I saw. I bring in my wagon the boody of your sister-in-law." He turned to Thomas. "I have enoough to gather a warrant for your arrest, Sir Sharpe for suspicion of muurder. But, I need proof of it for a trial."

"I killed her." Thomas confessed, eyes hard. "She stabbed me," He opened his shirt with one hand to show Mr. Mason his stab wound, "She did all that she could to kill me for keeping my guest, Doctor Alan McMichael," He gestured to Alan with a jut of his chin "Alive when she bade me kill him, and running away with him and my wife that she poisoned with the intent to kill. My wife fought her, but when I saw that Lucille was going to kill her as well, I stabbed her, then slit her throat." He finished with an inhale and a slight uplifting of his shoulders with sheer and utter relief to tell the truth.

Mr. Mason nodded to him before turning back on Edith. "I have questions for you Lady Sharpe, if you are willing?"

Edith nodded, feeling her head begin to throb, but she sat up as best she could either way. Thomas took a seat on the cot to her right, taking her hand while they both looked at Mr. Mason. "Lady Sharpe," He began, "You were poisoned whyle at Allerdale Hall, who did it?"

Edith licked her crusted lips. "Lucille,"

"But I knew about it." Thomas added. "I knew that Lucille was poisoning my wives."

Mr. Mason looked to him, "I thought you were married before. You were killing your wives?"

"Yes," Thomas answered.

"No," They both looked to Edith. "He followed, Lucille's orders. She, manipulated, him. She, manipulated, all of us. Thomas, told me, the truth about, the tea. He took it away, from me."

"Why you, Lady Sharpe?" Mr. Mason asked, his tone softening. "Why not the wife before you?"

"They, encouraged him, to stay. I encouraged, him, to go." Her vision of Mr. Mason blurred and she leaned her head back onto the headboard.

"Please, Mr. Mason, my wife needs her rest."

The balding head of the inspector nodded. "I've enough to coome back with a warrant to search your family estate for signs of malice upoon your current wife."

"You need not a warrant," Thomas told him, "Only a well-rested horse. And its wives, sir. Not just one Lady Sharpe prior; Pamela Upton, Margaret McDermott, Enola Sciotti, Edith… Cushing Sharpe."

Mr. Mason made a motion that Edith took to be a sudden look at her. Edith closed her eyes, commanding herself not to see smoking red figures in the dark passages of Allerdale Hall. "It's, true."

The inspector said something, but Edith felt her head loll and her shoulders slump, falling into an exhausted sleep.

AHAHAH

Edith awoke sometime in the middle of the night to a frigid room, her breath freezing before her nose. Her stomach felt normal for once, though her head was light. Slowly, she rose in her bed and turned towards the stove, finding the familiar glowing source of warmth had gone out. Thomas slept peacefully in his usual bed next to her, used to the cold. Across the room, Alan was curled tightly into a ball in his own bed.

Edith shivered and reached out to touch Thomas's hand. "Thomas, Thomas." She whispered, shaking him.

He roused easily enough, frowning as he opened his eyes. "Edith, darling? What is it?"

"The stove," She pointed to the quiet contraption, "Where are the nurses?"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Thomas hissed, jumping from his bed and rushing to the stove, shoving starting paper and tinder into it before striking a match. He poked at the fire, making it roar and give off precious heat to Alan first, but knowing that it would slither to Edith at its own pace. He rushed back to her bedside, "I'm so sorry, Edith!" He whispered, sitting at the edge of her bed and taking her cold hands in his, rubbing them to accumulate warmth. "Doctor Turner was called away on a sudden case and Nurses Andrews and Fox are on baby deliveries. I told them I wouldn't let the stove go out. I must've fallen asleep."

He placed her hands under the blanket and bade her move over as much as possible. To Edith's shock and delight, he crawled under the blankets with her, wrapping his arms under her neck and over her ribs, his nose nearly brushing hers. Edith giggled as he settled in, wrapping her better working leg over his and digging her cold toes into the warmth of his flesh. The last time they had been this close in bed, they had confessed and drew closer to each other in more ways than words. Perhaps that was why Edith couldn't help herself. She blurted out, "Now, when Lucille's dead are you at my side."

He hesitated, "What?"

Her smile faded, "She called you away at night, didn't she? She made you feel guilty enough that you left me alone to be with her."

He ticked his eyebrow, studying her face. He sighed, "It wasn't always… conjugal, Edith. We would talk, plot, sometimes dance. Lucille loved dancing. But yes, I knew that she was deliberately keeping me from you. After our night at the depot, I felt like I had to give her extra attention. I needed to keep her happy, lest she kill you before you signed over your property, which for me, meant that I had less time to get my harvesting machine done and producing to take you away from the house."

Edith shook her head and burrowed into his neck and stubble bearded chin, the heat of her breath and his flesh warming her nose. "When I needed you the most, she took you away."

"You needed me?"

"Yes," She looked up to him. "Had you been there, I wouldn't have wandered about the house looking for you. I wouldn't have seen the ghosts, or have discovered yours and Lucille's secret. If you'd been there in bed with me after the depot, we could have done it again. Perhaps even…" She mashed her lips together and nuzzled close to him. "I needed you, Thomas. I, wanted, you. I wanted my husband."

Thomas was silent, making Edith instantly regret speaking. He was remembering each moment he had given to his sister rather than his proper wife, wondering what could have happened if he had been present. Suddenly, he propped himself up on his elbow, forcing her to roll onto her back and place her hands onto his chest. "Do you still want me?" His eyes held her, his sincerity making her heart sputter. "You know the truth now. You've seen me as I really am. Do you still want me? As your husband?"

Edith moved her hand to cup his scratchy face. "Yes," She breathed, stroking his cheekbone.

He moved his hand slowly down her side, taking her night gown and pulling on it to find the hem. "You want your husband?"

Edith inhaled deeply, raising her knee to aid him in his task, a legion of butterflies erupting in her stomach. "Yes."

His fingers caressed and tickled her flesh, massaging her, inviting her to arch her back and grip the posts of the bed. He exhaled as deeply as she did. "Are you certain?"

Edith moaned, unable to think to gather words to form a sentence or utter a single comprehensible phrase. Thomas leaned forward, kissing the scoop of her neck while continuing to work his fingers upon her. His kisses travelled to her neck, pecking either cheek, then hovered above her lips in a naughty smile, as though dangling a piece of chocolate in front of her. "Shall I check the fire?"

"No!" She gasped, relinquishing her grip on the bed posts and taking his face. "More," She kissed him. "I want you, even more."

AHAHAH

Alan awoke with a start at the sudden warmth. He flexed his toes as best he could, realizing that he had rubbed them against the mattress to better conserve his own heat. He rose slightly, exhaling. Being as he was the patient they were the most worried about, he was obligated to lie closest to the stove where the nurses could reach him the fastest, which meant he was further away from Edith. He knew that Doctor Turner had left on a serious case shortly after sundown, and Nurse Fox had left to deliver a baby. But, as to where Nurse Andrews had gone, he couldn't say.

Alan turned to look at Edith, his customary habit since he realized that the monster she married was not going to move from her side. What he saw made his heart stop and his breathing falter.

Sir Thomas was on top of her, her nightgown gathered to her armpits, that synchronized movement unmistakable. Alan's first instinct, through the process of rigid upbringing and experience, was to turn away. He had the misfortune of having to sleep through a similar situation while in medical school involving his roommate and a handsome young lady, on numerous occasions, so he knew what to do. But this, he couldn't keep away from.

Edith gripped her nightgown and jammed her arm through one of the holes, allowing Sir Thomas to help her free her of the garment. He leaned back and lifted her from the warmth of the blankets, situating her onto his hips for a moment so that Alan could see her kiss the monster's face over and over again while he did his work on her. She cried out, pawing at her wrapped leg. Sir Thomas kissed her, then laid back to reveal Edith as Alan had never seen her, had never even thought to have seen her. Alan had seen naked women before, certainly, but to see his childhood friend, the one whom he loved, milky white where the sun had not seen and pink where she was not to be touched, was… astounding.

But, she was making love… to him. That monster that poisoned her, the bigamist who married women for their money, the one who spoke more lies than truth to her, the murderer! That monster was running his hands over her thighs and buttocks, inviting her to lie atop of him to not pain her leg and received for it perfectly rounded breasts to kiss in a flurry before leaning back to enjoy the pleasure, Edith kissing and rubbing his chest. Alan watched as they climaxed together, sounding like they had participated in a footrace rather than the fodder of countless dime romances. Edith fell onto Sir Thomas's chest, allowing him to kiss her forehead and run his fingers through her hair, accepting proper kisses with her tongue as well as her lips.

Alan turned back to the stove, hoping that the blazing light would blind him so that he would never have to see Edith making love to his worst enemy again. How could she, He thought. How could she give something so intimate to him who did so much to her? Was he lying to her again? As Sir Thomas had known Edith all of a week before proposing marriage, lies were a definite possibility. Did he rape her? Not in that position.

He heard them laugh quietly and looked over his shoulder to see them both crawl back under the blanket, Edith's back to Sir Thomas's chest so that he could wrap her in his arms. He whispered into her ear, making her smile and look back at him, accepting his eager kisses. What Alan would have given to have been able to bound across the room with the poker for the fire and thrust it into Sir Thomas the Monster's face. Repeatedly. Then take Edith back to his bed and have his way with her because he saw her nipples harden at the cold. What gentleman would let himself enjoy the pleasure of a wife whilst she froze? In his own bed, no one would freeze. He would take care of Edith better than some lying Baronet could!

Alan turned back again, praying that he wouldn't have to see any more innuendos tonight. His chest was tight, and after a while he realized that his fists were clenched. If Sir Thomas goes to trial then his lies will be exposed, He thought. If he goes to trial, Edith must see what a monster he really is. When that happens, I will be there for her. Just like it used to be, I will be the only man in her life. Except we are not children anymore. When he swings, I will be there with a ring.

With that, Alan pulled the blanket over his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Village of Redsett

Edith awoke with a smile, feeling Thomas's arm around her middle. She turned back to him, expecting to see him sleeping, slouched over his arm or the pillow. But what she saw was her handsome husband awake, relaxed, and glittering blue eyes studying her as she waked. She couldn't tell just how long he had been in that position, watching and smiling, but it made her feel even warmer than any hot broth or tea. He leaned forward, lips hovering for only a moment, before kissing her. Edith reached back, gliding her fingers into his hair like blades of grass on a summer picnic, and welcomed him.

"Good morning." She whispered, hoping that there might be more lovemaking.

"I see some people had a good night, last night." Nurse Andrews's voice called, walking passed.

"We don't understand your meaning, Nurse." Thomas replied as Edith melted into his body and the blankets, cheeks red.

Doctor Turner entered the recovery room, taking a good look at Thomas who covered Edith all the more with the blanket. "Well, I see our patients are on the mend, Nurse Andrews."

"That depends on appetite, Doctor Turner. Lady Sharpe, are you hungry? For proper sustenance, I mean."

Edith giggled and sat up slightly, "I thought I smelled scones."

Doctor Turner turned to his associate. "Porridge, Nurse Andrews. We must bring Lady Sharpe's stomach back to working order slowly."

"And baths?" She swept to Edith's bedside and picked up her nightgown, making Edith cower into Thomas. "It's high time they bathed, Doctor." She laid the folded garment where Edith could get to it.

Doctor Turner nodded. "Baths are in order. I want to operate on Mr. McMichael today."

"Doctor, sir." Edith told him. "He is an ophthomologist."

The man in question sat up, yawning. "Good morning, I heard 'surgery'."

"Indeed, you did, Doctor." Doctor Turner answered. "I want to search your wound for signs of a punctured lung and then stitch it properly. The one on your abdomen as well. But, you need a bath, first." He turned to Nurse Andrews. "I'll leave you to delegate the order of cleansing. Have Doctor McMichael ready by one o'clock, please."

"Yes, Doctor Turner." Nurse Andrews replied, sending Doctor Turner away to the general office. Nurse Andrews turned to Thomas, "Right, now Sir Sharpe, you're the least dirty, so you're in first. Followed by Lady Sharpe, then Doctor McMichael."

Thomas grabbed his trousers. "Edith needs proper attire." He told her. Quickly, he donned his garment and stood. "I'll go back to the manor house and fetch her travelling trunk. I'll also bathe there. Allow Doctor McMichael more time to prepare for surgery."

"You cannot carry trunks with your wound, Sir Sharpe." Nurse Andrews cried. "Not even with the horse and carriage you brought."

Edith sat up as Thomas pulled his shirt over his head. "She's right, Thomas." She pressed the blanket to her breasts and turned to gain a better look at him and lowered her voice, "You also have Mr. Mason to think about. What if he thinks you're fleeing Cumberland?"

"I'll take him with me, darling." He leaned over and kissed her. "I can show him the proper keys to the place."

"I'll see you when you get back, then." She smiled and kissed him. Before he pulled away, she threw her arms around his neck and held him close, not caring who saw her naked. "Be safe," She breathed into his ear, "Watch out for the ghosts."

"I will, my love." He whispered back, kissing her cheek. He stood and inhaled, Edith picking up the blanket to resume her modesty. "Mr. Mason asked after you passed out the other day, if you would be willing to write your side of your experience at the house. I'll be gone for several hours, plenty of unbiased testimony to get down." He leaned forward slightly, "I know you've been dying to write down a good story with a dashing hero and ghosts."

"Truth is in fact more frightening than fiction."

Thomas smirked, "Only you would know, my darling." He kissed her forehead and headed out the door.

AHAHAH

Edith practiced walking up and down the aisles in her dressing gown. Her stomach felt like it was somersaulting with each step and her head throbbed, but her body felt a relaxed calm; a means of getting better. Her legs were weak, but they worked, moving her up and down the gleaming wood floors and passed the four beds on her right, and four beds on her left. Doctor Turner even contemplated aloud the severity of her broken leg.

"How does it feel to walk?" Alan asked when she circled back to him.

"My stomach still feels imbalanced and my head aches." She told him, touching her middle.

"That would be a combination of the charcoal doing its work to counter the poison and nearly two weeks of liquid sustenance in your stomach."

"Has it been that long?" She asked, stopping at the foot of his bed. "It seems only a few days since we came in."

"You had the most damage, compared to the three of us. I heard them speak of a hysterectomy when you went into surgery, though they didn't follow through with it. What they mainly did was scrape out the afterbirth of your stillborn, the placenta was shredded."

Edith swallowed, her stomach gurgling. "Did you see it? My baby?"

Alan shook his head. "Sir Thomas blocked my view of it. When he didn't move, Nurse Andrews had to take it away in a box."

Edith's chest tightened, her eyes swelling. "I would have liked to have known if it was a boy or a girl."

Alan sat up, wincing when he moved too fast. With his good hand, he waved her over to join him and hugged her, rubbing her back. "Would you have named the child after your parents?"

"Yes," Edith breathed. "Thomas Carter Sharpe the Second."

Alan froze, making her look at him. His blue eyes were like sapphires, hard and unrelenting, the fire dancing against his cheek casting shadows on half of his face. "Why did you do it?" He demanded suddenly.

Edith's chest tightened even more. "What do you mean, Alan?"

"Last night, I saw you and Sir Thomas making love. Why did you do it? Firstly, why did you marry him when you knew that your father disapproved? He took great lengths to keep the Sharpes away, but you went bounding after them. Why? You knew your father was your greatest protection. And why after knowing what they did to you… why did you lay with him, again?"

Edith leaned back, "I do not think that what I do with my husband in daylight or at night is any of your concern, Alan." His glare broke, sadness seeping through the cracks. Her head throbbed all the more. "Forgive me, Alan, that was unkind. I'm terribly sorry that you had to see us."

Alan cocked his head, "Big room with little privacy, I'm afraid."

"Still, I'm sorry. I married Thomas because I loved him. I also knew that if I let my father determine whom my heart desired, I would end my days as a wealthy spinster."

"There was me," Alan added, taking her hand. "You knew of my affections towards you. And if you did not, Eunice would have been glad to detail them."

"You said nothing until I was married, Alan. Thomas engaged me, never mind his initial intentions. He spoke to me about my novel as though we were discussing Charlotte Brontë or Mary Shelley. That was true passion, Alan. His sister didn't want me, she thought I was dangerous to her control over him." She smiled to herself, "Lucille was a great judge of character, now that I think on it."

"Edith," Alan squeezed her hand and bore into her, his look pleading, "Edith, your husband poisoned you. If he didn't do it himself, then he knew it was happening. He knew that you were going to die once you signed over your property to him, and said nothing-"

"Yes, he did." Edith's chest tightened for an entirely different reason. "He took the poisoned tea away from me and gave me porridge, telling me that the tea was making me sick. He said he saw the ghosts, too. He had known they were there, too. Don't you understand? He told me that I wasn't losing my mind. He told me that I was in danger and was taking lengths to stop Lucille. He had to be careful, you saw how she retaliated against him when he said he loved me and not her."

Alan rubbed her hand with his thumb. "He still hurt you, Edith. That, I cannot forgive."

Edith shot up as fast as she could, her broken leg reminding her that it wasn't much. "You have no right to tell me what you can and cannot forgive, Alan. If you had told me that you loved me, then I would have forsaken Thomas as seductive and tempting as he is." He leaned back, eyes widening. "When I realized that they were going to kill me, before Thomas told me about the poison, my first thought was you. When I saw you standing there, setting my broken leg, I knew that I had always loved you, too. But you said nothing, Alan! You didn't even show interest in my novel!"

"I loved your novel! I thought it was the greatest thing in Creation."

"You said none of that! You only complimented my description, and commented on my use of ghosts. Alan, that writing was my soul in ink and paper. You were the first and only person I showed it to, and you regarded it as though it was…" She scrambled through the dizziness to find the word an author would best use, "Passive. Hardly a prayer towards a Dickens." She shook her head. "Thomas read it not knowing the author and loved it, complimenting me without knowing it was my own creation. He gave me my Mary Shelly feeling. A stranger, not my best friend." With that, she hobbled off.

AHAHAH

Edith ate her porridge in a steaming bath, confident in its nourishment after having Nurse Andrews taste it first. The bathing room was a small, white tiled space with a porcelain claw foot tub, a gas stove, and a toilet that made noises when Mrs. Turner, the Doctor's wife, used the upstairs apartment toilet. Nurse Andrews had helped Edith into the bath and was now massaging her broken leg, checking for signs of infection among the wrappings. "Your leg is in good working order, Lady Sharpe." She grinned, washing off the soap. "Doctor Turner should be putting it into a cast, soon."

Edith swallowed, then smiled. "If it makes the pain lessen, I'd welcome it gladly."

Nurse Andrews stood. "I'll take your porridge, now. Time to wash your hair."

Edith surrendered her sticky, bland porridge and leaned her head back to accept the downpour of warm water. She felt horrible with the way she had snapped at Alan, but regretted not a single word. If only Alan had confessed his love for her, perhaps even proposed, in his office when she went to see him that day after chatting so splendidly with Thomas, things might have been different. Though Thomas was alluring, her attention would have jerked from him to Alan, trying to sort out what her feelings were for her childhood friend. She might have even been bathing this day in Italy on a year-long honeymoon, fed strawberries one by one by her husband without a care in the world.

But he hadn't, and she was the wife of a Baronet. Who had been the first to give her a cup of poisoned tea, then had allowed it to happen until he stopped it. Then had rescued her at the eleventh hour and brought her and Alan to the village to be healed. He was also now with the village inspector gathering clothes for either of them, ensuring confidence in the man who intended to jail him for murder.

Edith shot up strait, wrenching her sopping wet mane of hair from Nurse Andrew's hands. "Lady Sharpe, are you well?"

She looked back to her. "Nurse Andrews, has anyone been hanged for knowing and allowing a crime to be committed?"

Nurse Andrews sat stock still, peach colored water pitcher in hand. "Are you referring to Sir Sharpe?"

"Yes. Has it happened here, in Redsett?"

Nurse Andrews inhaled. "Murderers are not tried in Redsett, ma'am. When Mr. Mason decides that their crime is serious enough, they are sent to Carlisle to be tried, then sentenced."

Edith nodded, her stomach churning. "Has anyone from Redsett been hanged for knowing and allowing a crime to be committed?"

Nurse Andrews hesitated, "There was a husband and wife from the neighboring village, five years ago. The husband committed highway robbery, and his wife knew of it. She sorted the booty he brought home, telling him where he should sell the goods they didn't keep. She prepared his lunches and waited for him to arrive home each night, making his apologies to anyone who asked. She even went to church to hear of any coaches coming and going that week and what they might contain. They… tried her. Then, they hung her next to her husband."

Edith grabbed at her throat, suddenly unable to breathe. Nurse Andrews set down the pitcher and rushed to her, rubbing her back. "Shush, Lady Sharpe! Their lawyer was a drunk and a fool! He all but tied the noose around their necks. That won't happen to your husband, that won't happen to you! Shush now, all will be well."

Edith's lungs didn't relent and her head throbbed all the more. She loved Thomas, he was her dark knight. Would he be spared the noose because he had stopped the threat? Or would he be punished for his three previous wives? She couldn't help it, from her eyes poured a downpour of protest and fear, oblivious to Nurse Andrew's coos for peace.

"Thomas," She moaned, "Thomas!"

AHAHAH

Allerdale Hall

Thomas dressed quickly, aware that Mr. Mason was using the temporary separation to search for evidence that would send him to trial. His hair was still damp from the bath and shave, but that hardly mattered. He always felt uneasy bathing in the same tub where his mother and first wife were murdered. Though he never saw his wives when they died, he always felt their absence. He missed the sound of Pamela's wheelchair squeaking through the house, looking at all the books their mother had acquired over her short term of motherhood. Margaret would hum down the halls, even when she was dying. He couldn't hear the song "Over the sea to Skye" without tearing up. She had wanted to go back to Edinburgh so much… Enola was the one he missed the most. He remembered reading her Robert Browning's Letters to the Portuguese in Italian, hearing her correct his shaky grammar each time he stumbled. She was the first woman he had to remind himself that he wasn't in love but Lucille. She was the first that made him believe, if even for a moment, that he could have someone other than his sister.

Then he met Edith and his careful barriers against his wives shattered. Seeing her in the Engineering Office, he had been drawn to her. Reading her novel, one about ghosts too, that was the heat to melt the wax. She was a woman unafraid, a woman that he needed, and who might have needed him, too.

He opened her wardrobe, smiling in spite of himself. Each time he opened her wardrobe, he was reminded of the sunrise. To the far left was her purple travelling coat, followed by a soft yellow dress, a golden skirt with a white shirt, another gold long sleeve shirt that she liked to wear, and lastly a deep green dress with gold balls sewn to the shoulders and collar. Gently, Thomas unhooked all of Edith's clothes and folded them carefully into her travelling trunk (Mr. Mason helped him bring it down from the attic). Lucille hadn't cared about how he had packed his previous wives' clothes, so long as they were taken down immediately. She was vicious when he didn't comply immediately. With Edith, he treated her clothes as though he was packing the Queen's wardrobe. All of her clothes, undergarments, and shoes were placed properly, according to how he remembered the maids used to do it. When Thomas sealed the clasp, he exhaled. If he was tried and found guilty, then how he treated Edith these next few weeks would be what she remembered for the rest of her life.

Thomas opened his travelling trunk and strode to his wardrobe. If he was executed, then she would certainly marry McMichael. He saw how touched she was that he had left his maiden practice in America to rescue her, and he certainly noticed how the good doctor winced each time he and his wife touched, or kissed. They had shared a moment, McMichael and himself, when Edith had fallen asleep after they had made love the night before, a moment similar to their unspoken duel at the funeral for Edith's father.

Thomas had settled in behind his wife, savoring the life she had regained, when he had noticed the other American seething in the bed a little ways away from them. If Lucille had taught him anything, it was how to tell when someone was properly asleep and when someone was too furious to pretend to be doing it. Thomas had made a noise with his nail, prompting McMichael to look around at them. They met, glaring eye to eye, across the room. He knew that McMichael thought that he had no right to touch their beloved Edith, that the blood on his hands was too filthy to be touching a butterfly like her. But Thomas stared him down. Edith was his wife until the noose ended that title, and if she wanted his touch, then she would receive it. McMichael exhaled in a manner that reminded Thomas of a rhinoceros, and turned away, a promise for a better fight at a later time.

Thomas packed every article of clothing he owned, including the new mourning outfit that he had purchased in Buffalo to attend Edith's father's funeral. He figured if he was going to be hanged for his offences, then he was going to be hung as a Baronet should.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._

Thomas turned, expecting to see Mr. Mason standing in the doorway of the master chamber. Instead, he saw nothing. He turned back to packing, fetching his shaving bag and stuffing it into a smaller suitcase along with his regular and dress shoes.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stand on end. Slowly, he straightened. He had felt that before, but had always ignored it for Lucille's sake. But, Edith had seen full apparitions… He turned toward the bathroom, eyes alert. Something moved. He caught the swish of what looked like a skirt on fire disappear into the bathroom.

Thomas followed it, rushing to the bathroom, determined to see what haunted the corners of his vision these last few years. He burst through the doorway, sweeping the bone white tiles for any sign of… well, he couldn't call it life if Edith was telling the truth of what she had seen. But there was nothing. Not a figure, not a sound, not even a person in a sheet willing to play on his emotion. He inhaled, then turned and headed back to the luggage.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Village of Redsett

Christmas Eve

Edith stood on wobbly legs with the help of Thomas and a hickory cane. She had been discharged by Doctor Turner, allowed to head home. Or, leave the Doctor's office, home was a questionable term for a hotel reservation. Edith looked back to Alan who sat in the surgery, arm draped over his head as Doctor Turner plucked out his stitches. They had not spoken since their confrontation several days ago other than a cordial "Good morning," or "Good evening." Thomas knew something had transpired between them, but Edith had not elaborated and he did not ask. He simply acted as though the incident never happened and chatted with Edith while helping her to get used to walking with a cast.

"Are you certain you can walk?" Thomas asked, his face etched with caution. "It is a decent distance."

Edith turned back to Thomas and nodded. "Yes, I can make it to the hotel."

"Alright." He took her free arm and tucked it under his, leading her toward Nurse Fox who was busy fastening her cloak to attend a sick woman at her home. Edith wore her warm purple travelling cloak, gold skirt, and green top with gold balls, the ensemble fastened together by her favorite belt of two ivory hands clasped over her middle. Thomas wore a simple suit, black and white with a warm overcoat and his favorite top hat.

"Ready to go?" Nurse Fox asked, her full face stretched into a smile.

Edith nodded, looking back to Alan. "Yes, I believe we are."

"Don't you worry, Lady Sharpe. He'll be after you in a bit. Just let his stitching come out and he'll be on his way."

Edith turned back to her and smiled. "I thank you, Nurse Fox for your diligence during our stay."

"My pleasure, Lady Sharpe." She cupped her hand over Edith's on her cane.

"Shall we, darling?" Thomas asked.

"Goodbye, Nurse Fox. I hope to see you again, sometime."

The smile on the big woman's face faded. "I reckon you will, Lady Sharpe." She looked at Thomas and bade him farewell, then walked out the door and held it open.

The Sharpes meandered along the wooden avenue of Redsett, absorbing the sight of softly cascading snow, bustling villagers and carriages, and the sweet sounds of a quartet singing at the public square. Edith smiled despite the discomfort of her cast and the thick wool sock Nurse Fox had shoved on it to defend her toes from the frost. It was just like she had pictured when reading Dickens! They passed a shop and smelled roasting chestnuts, cinnamon bark, and evergreen. A couple passed in front of them, the wife carrying a Yule Log cake, and in the streets, children threw snow balls at each other, screeching with laughter.

They stepped down into the muddy cobblestone streets, taking one step at a time until Edith saw her cast fly out from under her. Immediately, Thomas crushed her to his chest at the same time his legs flew out. They fell to the wooden avenue with a _thump!_ "Are you alright, Edith?" He panicked, eyes wide.

"I'm fine, Thomas." She smiled. "No more broken bones. Are you alright?"

He searched her face, his own alighting with her contagious mood. He looked to the wooden steps and winced for a moment. "I am fine."

"Caught the topsy turvy, did you?" A police officer asked, walking over to them. "Need a hand?"

Edith lifted her skirt to show her cast, "A moment more than a hand, sir."

Thomas moved his hand around her back and leaned into her shoulder, an English conversation of some kind. "I'll help her, Officer."

The police officer nodded with a polite grin, "Take your time." With that he nodded to Edith and strolled along.

Edith looked around, not feeling sore for the first time in ages, absorbing the glittering lights and feeling of Christmas. She found herself swaying from side to side, the joy bubbling up from within her.

Thomas chuckled, "I forgot, you've never experienced an English Christmas."

"It's so beautiful!" She told him, grinning and catching snowflakes in her teeth.

He chuckled as she struggled to swallow them. "I know. I always enjoy coming down here to the village during Christmastime. When it was just us, we would gather around Lucille's piano and sing our favorite carols, then she and I would waltz around the fire, recalling the balls and Christmas tea parties that our parents held when I was but a toddler and a boy." He kissed her temple, "Now I get to enjoy a new memory with you, my darling."

Edith readjusted her grip on Thomas's arm. They had buried Lucille three days before, marking the first time Edith left Doctor Turner's office in nearly a month. When she had asked why it took so long for them to bury her, Thomas replied that because the ground was so frozen around the family burial plots, the grave digger had to take his time digging. It also didn't help that the snowdrifts that fell on the cleared land were at almost six feet during the worst of Edith's stay at Doctor Turner's office. With the help of a plough, a grave was dug, a tombstone set, and Edith shivered in a wheelchair next to Thomas (watched over by Nurse Fox) as her nightmare incarnate was laid to rest.

Thomas had cried quietly as his former lover and sister was spoken over by the village vicar. The church had purchased a tapestry from Thomas that dated back to King Charles II, a beautiful heirloom depicting the temptation of Eve. The sale had provided Thomas with enough funds for a lovely ebony and glass coffin to be made for Lucille, something that Edith didn't protest as it was customary to Lucille's rank. Thomas had thanked her quietly for her silence on the matter, though he posted the letter to America for her that asked for more funds with a brief explanation of the events that had transpired; Edith knew that Thomas had to lay his sister to rest on his own. When the time had finally come for the family to toss handfuls of dirt onto the lowered coffin, Thomas was frozen where he stood, looking down at the beautiful pale face in the glass surrounded by crimson dirt, silent tears coursing down his face.

It was Edith who had made the first move. She had called Nurse Fox over, taking her arm and rising, still not summoning movement from her husband. Edith had taken a handful of crimson dirt and moved back to Thomas, holding out her fist to him. Slowly, he had turned, his blue eyes haunted. "She has no control over you anymore, Thomas." Edith had told him. "She is not your tormenter anymore. Lucille lies here," She had gestured to the grave, "Your sister. Nothing else but that."

Thomas had swallowed, looking toward the coffin but likely seeing nothing. "She was so… frightened, to be left alone."

Edith had lowered her fist and hobbled to his side, his arm had come to steady her but there was no emotion in it. "Thomas, she was alone the moment she forced you into the position of a hostage; making you choose her to spare the lives of your wives. She was always alone, Thomas. But you are not. I love you, and I'm not so easily divided from those whom I love."

Thomas had regarded her with a tender look, his thin lips sealed and his eyes glittering. He had stepped back slightly, taking from her fist the clump of crimson dirt. He had looked at it, then had turned to the coffin in the ground. "Farewell… sister." Edith had felt like flying at that moment. Thomas hadn't regarded the woman in the ground as his lover, but as his sister. He was free! After that, they had been inseparable. Despite being discharged, Thomas came each morning and had to be sternly looked at by the nurses to leave at night. When Edith was ready to stand and resume their journey, Thomas jumped up, kicked away spare pieces of ice, and helped her rise, walking with her to ensure her safety.

They passed the public square, the lovely melody of "O Come O Ye Faithful" bringing memories of caroling in Buffalo with her father and Alan in the parlors of high society. How she missed her father! Hearing his baritone and seeing his hard eyes trying to be pleasant for Edith's sake. She shook away her tears and remembered the happiness she felt then and now. Thomas hummed along with the song next to her, his face once again innocent. In mourning, he hadn't slept in the same bed with her, and she hadn't asked. Now, anything seemed possible.

They walked into the hotel, a great wood and stone structure with brass finishing on the front desk that flickered in the light of a great fire. Few people sipped their tea and nibbled on hot scones in the small dining area, their layers of warmth stowed away in the coat closet behind a freckle faced boy behind the desk counter. Thomas could not stop Edith from noticing that everyone in the dining area looked at them, either discreetly over their tea or turned around outright.

"Darling," Thomas called in a low tone, eyes fixed on the watchers. "Would you mind if I carried you up the stairs to the room? It might provide you with a bit more… comfort."

Edith looked to him as he looked over their audience, removing his hat and turning to her for an answer. He couldn't stand the watchers one bit. "Not at all."

He pulled a brass key from his pocket and handed it to her. He then swept her off her feet and carried her up the flight of wooden stairs and red carpet to their room. Footmen and maids, all dressed in black and white, fluttered up and down the stairs, prompting Thomas to pause or turn Edith as he ascended.

Edith kissed his cheek. "I still love you, Thomas."

He looked to her and half smiled.

AHAHAH

Their room was wide and spacious, with a sizeable bed and sitting area of a high-backed chair and chaise lounge, a small moveable breakfast table pushed against the wall that could be brought forth to separate them. The fabrics were green, but the small pillows on the bed were gold like Edith's dresses. Edith herself rested in the chaise lounge, watching Thomas poke at the fire. He had plopped her there as soon as the scullery maid opened the door, basket of tinder in hand. The fire hadn't taken right away, so Thomas excused himself and worked at it, provoking a warm outburst to come forth.

Edith looked at him, remembering that he had been in that exact position when she had first arrived to Allerdale Hall seemingly a lifetime ago. The only difference now was that his movements were not laden with a melancholic darkness. He was free and he knew moments of joy. "Thomas," Edith asked, summoning his full attention. "Why hasn't there been an investigation into you? Surely they would have searched the house by now."

Thomas set the poker on the stand and stood. "The snow's too deep at the house. Just getting the luggage was difficult enough, we had to dig the door out. No, the investigation will come when the snow melts and they can properly search the house for evidence."

Edith nodded slowly, looking around their spacious bedroom.

"You're thinking of it, too. Aren't you?"

She looked down at her plaid blanket, her legs almost scalding beneath the wool. "Yes." She looked at him. "We could leave, and no one could stop us. You aren't guilty because no charges have been made against you. We could go back to Buffalo with Alan, we could live on my fortune. You could run my father's office, or be a consulting engineer for the bank. Tell them what patents are worth investing in or what can be left behind."

Thomas nodded, then smirked. "Wouldn't that be something?" He moved to sit across from her, his face etched with fatigue. "Edith, I've told you that my parents were brutal people. My mother always blamed Lucille for being born first, and my father thought that because his firstborn was a girl, that my mother had committed adultery against him. They were punished because I did not come first. When I did come, I could do little wrong. Lucille was always blamed for my transgressions and she paid dearly for them." He paused, "Sometimes, not being punished is worse than the actual punishment. I knew that I should have been in trouble, but others took my punishment for me. It wasn't right, not by any means. Seeing them go through such injustice was… torture upon my soul. There were times when I delighted taking the crop or the cane simply because it meant that my mother and my sister would not have to pay for my mistakes.

"I cannot suddenly tuck tail and run, darling. I love you and want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life at your side." He touched her hand, "But I am coming to the conclusion that the rest of my life may very well be the next few months, ended by justice administered the right way."

Edith felt as though something rather large shot through her chest, leaving her with a wet, raw hole. "How could I have fallen so deeply in love with you in such a short time?" She looked away so that he wouldn't see her tears. "How can I let you go, too?" She covered his hand with hers and faced him. "I heard the phonograph cylinders, Thomas. None of your wives could stop loving you. Why?"

Sadness crossed his face. "I don't know. I wish I did, though. I could make the world stop doing it, if I knew."

She felt her heart shudder, and she smiled slightly. "May I kiss you, Thomas?"

He leaned away, eyes wide, "What?"

"May I kiss you?"

"Of course you can, darling. What kind of question is that?"

"I know Lucille made you do things that you would have preferred to abstain from because she evoked your guilt. I never want to do that to you Thomas."

He smiled at her, stitching closed any wounds her heart had made. With ease, he slid onto the chaise lounge, taking Edith's waist with one hand and touching her chin with the other. "What I do with you, Edith, is my pleasure. You have made me brave, my love, and I am glad to show it to you."

Her heart nearly hammered out of her chest at the taste of his lips. Her temperature rose so much that when his kisses moved to her cheeks and forehead, she was surprised she didn't exhale steam like a train. Thomas's hands slowly caressed her breasts, enjoying their feel. Edith arched her back as she leaned against the curved backrest, offering him more. He moved downward, pulling at her skirt to reveal her leg within its cast, kept in a temporary bend until the bone mended. Tenderly, he kissed the plastered knee, mostly covered in the wool sock. Gently, he dug his fingers into the wool sock, eyes fixed on Edith, and pulled it off, kissing the hard plaster like it was skin.

Edith watched him in his movements, feeling an ache throughout her limbs that she couldn't explain. There was no mistaking that he loved her, that he wanted to spend himself and his time with her. That's how he kept his wives, She thought. Thomas loved them back when he wasn't supposed to. We were attracted to the glimpses of passion and love that he let us see. She closed her eyes, letting herself absorb his love and passion.

AHAHAH

Edith and Thomas were late in rising on Christmas Morning. Their bed was so warm that they didn't see an immediate need to leave it, and so spacious that they could engage in… The only reason they did exit the bed was due to the arrival of the scullery maid with a basket of tinder and a box from Allan with a letter.

"What is this?' Edith asked when the maid had left, Thomas bringing the box to her in bed.

"Looks like a Christmas present." Thomas muttered, his face covered by untamed curled black hair.

She untied the twine and lifted the lid, revealing a bundle wrapped in tissue paper. Edith squealed as soon as she recognized the kind of box it was. Lying beneath the paper was a lavender gown with draped pearl sleeves. Edith picked it up, marveling at the splendor of a new dress. Suddenly, she threw her head back and laughed.

"What?" Thomas asked, smiling himself.

"I-I never thought a dress could make me happy like this before!" She laughed. "I used to think losing your mind over something so silly as a dress was foolish! But here I am," She smoothed the fabric with her fingers, tracing the beautiful embroidered design of a peacock with sewn pearls on the bodice, trailing off.

"Yes, new clothes are wonderful things, aren't they?" Thomas asked, holding the letter from Alan. "This, came with the box."

Edith took it and opened it with her finger. Seeing Alan's handwriting made her feel warm throughout her body, though she quickly did her best to cool her sentiments. She read aloud:

 _My dear Lady Sharpe,_

 _Being Christmas Day, I cannot help but remember our lovely days in Buffalo. You would wear your finest gown, welcome visitors to your lovely home. It gave me such a feeling of longing that I did not realize I missed until I realized that we were far away from home, in a foreign land with foreign customs and people._

 _Please beg your husband's forgiveness for sending you a gown of such quality without his permission, but I could not resist. I saw it in the shop window yesterday afternoon and remembered our lovely Christmases together as children._

 _I invite you and your husband to supper tonight in the lobby. The manager assured me that a splendid English Christmas supper will be provided for us, Service de la Russe, and, if I go alone, I'm afraid that I might not have the proper manners required for such an event. The north is so different from London that I do not wish to risk insult. I also think that it would be a shame to ignore tradition and wear our common everyday wear tonight. I will be wearing my finest, and I have every hope that you will wear yours as well._

 _Good day,_

 _Dr. Alan McMichael_

Edith looked to Thomas. "What do you think?"

He looked to the letter, asking for it. He reread it twice, rolling his eyes to Edith and smiling. "I'd love to see you in a fine dress again. So long as I might dance with you if there's music."

"Of course, Thomas." She looked at him, "What's wrong?"

He cocked his head to the right. Then walked away.

AHAHAH

Edith was a vision in her lavender gown, her golden hair piled upon her head in an elegant style. Thomas couldn't breathe when he saw her. She looked absolutely stunning and he couldn't tell that her leg was broken at all. He wore his white silks, the ones Lucille had had made with Margaret's last funds to better attract brides. But, these were the silks that he wore when he fell in love with Edith. They might have been able to recreate a moment long ago, when they were surrounded by people, yet felt completely alone and left to each other's gentle embrace, sweeping around the dance floor to a Chopin waltz. Before that night, he had been curious about Edith; That night, he fell madly in love with her.

Taking her in his arms, Thomas carried Edith down the stairs smiling as she hummed in his ear, "Angels We Have Heard on High." He was in such a good mood that when he saw McMichael dressed in his finest suit and tails, white silk shirt to match white silk vest and bow tie, he didn't mind. He was carrying Cinderella to the ball while Prince Charming waited on them.

"Edith you're a portrait!" McMichael exclaimed when Thomas set her down.

"Alan!" Edith beamed. "Thank you for the gown! I am most appreciative."

"I saw it and couldn't leave it on a mannequin. You had to have it for Christmas supper."

"Our Edith can make a potato sack look haute couture," Thomas replied, shaking away any feelings of rising ire.

McMichael swept his eyes over Thomas's frame, showing a minute face of being off put for a second before fading away. "Yes, our Edith can make even common rags haute enough." He turned his attention to the lady in question. "Shall I escort you to supper?"

Thomas straightened, ready to intervene, but Edith turned back to him. "Thomas, shall we go?"

He hesitated, measuring the resolve in her soft features. She was waiting for his command, his willingness to allow them to join this self-righteous arsehole. He nodded to her, holding out his arm. "Yes, Edith darling. I do not believe you've had a proper meal in some time."

She smiled, taking his arm. Just as they moved forward, Edith gripped his arm and slid backwards, Alan catching her other arm just in time. "I'm afraid I shall need double support, gentlemen." She apologized.

"Its alright, darling." Thomas chuckled, "I can use the support." He looked to McMichael who delighted in caressing Edith's delicate arm. He didn't catch the smug little smile Edith made for the briefest of moments before concentrating on walking like Thomas did.

They moved as one, the men taking the grunt of Edith's broken leg to allow her a better gait. They were seated at a table close to the fire, covered with a white linen tablecloth and crystal glasses. Edith smiled, smoothing her hands over the tablecloth. Thomas smiled, knowing that look. "Look, darling, proper linen."

She giggled, looking at him. "No moths."

Alan looked at them, "I do not understand the context."

Edith turned to him. "At Allerdale Hall. We ate with fine china, finer than this," She gestured to the china rose bowl in the center of the table, "And drank in lovely goblets like these. But, the table cloth was missing. I asked Lucille where it was one day and she pulled it out. I thought it was lace at first, but then I touched it and saw that moths had chewed it so much that it wasn't useable anymore. We ate on the wooden table with an old runner of, what was it, Thomas?"

"Velvet. Green velvet that Margaret had bought for Lucille as a sister-in-law gift. She watched over that thing like a cat, swiping at any moth that fluttered near it." His chest tightened and thought, It was the only gift someone other than myself had ever given her.

Something smooth touched his hand and he looked up, seeing Edith's smiling face. "Why don't you tell us about Christmas growing up, Thomas? Was it dreadfully lovely?"

He smiled, only because he knew he was going to either have to tell a lie or the truth. He settled on the truth. "I was not permitted to attend the Christmas gatherings my parents hosted. Lucille and I were confined to the nursery. Left to our own devices and entertainment." He looked to Edith, dipping his chin slightly to indicate that this was when Lucille first suggested incest. "But, that didn't mean that we stayed in the nursery. And there was the preparation for these gatherings that we sneaked out to see." He smiled, letting his honesty shine through. "There were at least twelve trees delivered to the house that we played under. We could play so long as we were quiet and tidy. I learned that one the hard way." He blinked and saw his father's riding crop fall across his face in the aim for his shoulder. "We delighted in seeing the decorations hung up, stinking up the entire house with pine. An excellent distraction to mold and dust in the attic."

"What were they like?" Edith asked, "The decorations?"

"Like these," He gestured to the hanging wreaths tied with red holly berries and gold ribbon. "Except we had enough to wrap this entire hotel up like a mummy."

Edith chuckled. "In London, we used to tie small candles to the wreaths." McMichael added. "To the Christmas trees, too."

"We had a custom at Allerdale Hall," Thomas interjected, his ire rising, "The guests would take a candle from the tree, light it, and waltz with it like we did at the ball at the McMichael house." He smiled to Edith, reveling in McMichael's discomfort. "I loved seeing the tree darken and the dance floor alight. Lucille and I would dance in our hiding spot, recreating the moment with our bedside lamps to our favorite Chopin waltz or Christmas carol."

He paused, remembering when his sister was still the innocent little girl he loved. What he wouldn't give to have that little girl back again. That innocent little stranger who haunted his dreams.

"Christmas was a bit different for us," Edith's soft voice pulled him back to reality. "Wasn't it, Alan?"

"Oh, yes! We couldn't be kept in the nursery no matter how hard our mothers tried."

"Two mischievous minds against two busy and heavily occupied ones, it wasn't fair now that I think of it. Especially when my mother passed away. We must have been ruthless."

"Eunice was the ruthless one." Alan corrected, scratching his chin and nodding to the waiter who arrived with a steaming pitcher of spiced wine. "She always required the finest for Christmas, no matter if we could acquire it or not." He looked to Thomas, "It's a good thing you didn't fall for her charms. She would have been hell on you, Sir Thomas."

Thomas was silent. Lucille had wanted Eunice. Lucille had seen that Eunice was not a threat, a butterfly that she could have pinned to her wall. Eunice would have continued the cycle, another ring of beautiful hair in Lucille's jewelry box. Another body he had to bury and another trunk he had to carry down to the clay mines.

"Thomas," Edith's voice guided him back to the present. She had seen his look, he knew it. She had considered the same things, too, about Eunice. She reached down and touched his leg, mouthing the words, "Its alright."

"Forgive me," Thomas swallowed. "I am easily lost in memories as of late."

"Well then, guide me in traditions." Edith commanded, taking up her wine goblet. "What in the world is this?"

Thomas smiled.

"Spiced wine." He and McMichael answered in unison.

Edith looked to them both. "I presume that this is a common drink for Christmas?"

Thomas and McMichael locked eyes. "I will defer to the expert among us." McMichael sighed, gesturing his gloved hand to the table.

Thomas grinned, "Thank you, Dr. McMichael." He picked up his wine goblet. "It is also known as wassail. It goes back to when the Romans would put bits of toasted bread into their wine to spice it better. The term 'wassail' means 'be healthy', a good wish for the new year." He lifted his goblet, "A toast. Happy Christmas."

Edith and McMichael lifted their goblets likewise, each repeating "Happy Christmas."

The taste of the warm apple cider and Madeira over Thomas's tongue was heavenly, reminding him of the time when Lucille had taken a pitcher and stowed it away in the nursery, pouring it into their child's cups until they were very much intoxicated. Being as their parents were slow to rise the next morning and the servants reluctant to report them to their father, they got away with it quite easily. Thomas opened his eyes, not realizing that he had closed them, and chuckled to see Edith's face pinched in disagreement, eyeing the liquid like it was a witch's brew.

"Good God!" She coughed, dabbing her lips with a serviette. "What is this foul concoction?"

Even McMichael had to laugh. He appeared to have taken a minute sip of his wine. "It takes a moment to get used to it."

"There's a reason we only drink it at Christmas." Thomas guffawed, taking another sip.

"I think I shall settle for water." Edith replied, setting her goblet down. "Or tea."

Thomas felt a shiver run down his spine at the mention of Edith wanting tea. He pushed the thought away, forcing a smile. "Now, darling, you must tell me about Christmas in America. I am quite curious."

Edith chatted with McMichael until supper came, elaborating on the beauty of Christmas traditions that hers and the McMichael family partook. Edith was not a social butterfly, Thomas knew that. She sang carols in her home to a private audience, McMichael adding that he would accompany with the piano, but Edith insisted that her voice was not concert ready.

While they talked and reminisced, Thomas watched, hardly listening. If he was to hang, Edith would be taken care of by the gentlemanly villain seated across from him. How Thomas hated him! His fine dress, his promise of a respectable practice, his obvious love for Edith, all of it Thomas detested. Yet, he knew that he had to concede defeat. He had blood upon his hands, blood that had hurt Edith. Thomas had no justified right to claim her after all that he did. Yet he could not let her go. Thomas could not allow this pretty adversary to take from him the only pure joy that he ever had the privilege of knowing.

Their supper was six courses consisting of a soup, goose basted with Cumberland sauce, beef wellington, vegetables of pickled cucumbers, and finishing with a piece of spiraled Yule Log cake. The goose and Cumberland sauce brought tears to Loki's eyes so much so that he contemplated leaving the table to compose himself, but his rigid upbringing forbade such rudeness. Lucille had made this dish only once when he had come home from school in Switzerland. It had been burned when she checked it, the goose still cold within. She had cried so much when she saw it, even throwing the cook book across the kitchen. Only he could calm her. His kiss made her brighten, made her forget her faults. Thomas ate another forkful, and another, relishing the new memory of his wife's smile and pleasurable closing of her eyes as she relished in her meal and memory.

"I'm certain I just expanded a foot." Edith declared when the cake was brought forth.

Thomas smiled. "You needn't force yourself, darling."

She ate one spoonful and pushed her plate away.

He chuckled. "If you are willing, Edith, I would like to go for a walk outside. Only to the village square."

"In this cold?" McMichael asked, setting down his brandy glass.

"It is something that I did while at Allerdale Hall," Thomas continued, ignoring McMichael. "I would always step outside on Christmas night to absorb the feeling. Enjoy the stillness after the chaos of parties or caroling. Lucille never knew I did it. I would steal this night away from her. Would you like to join me?"

Edith nodded. "I would love to, Thomas."

"Then if you'll excuse me, I'll get your coat." He stood. "Thank you, Dr. McMichael for the invitation to a magnificent supper."

"The pleasure is mine, Sir Thomas."

Thomas nodded and turned his heel. Someday he would be able to tell his adversary to sod off rather than uphold his manners.

AHAHAH

They stood beneath the gazebo in the village centre watching the snow descend. Edith could see her breath in front of her and couldn't help but remember the night she tried to run away from Allerdale Hall. She was so lonely, so frightened of both the living and the dead residing in the house that she had wanted to leave in nothing but her bare feet and nightgown. Unfortunately, the cold made her think twice and she turned back to the grand staircase, collapsing and fainting with grief.

Thomas held her in place, unmoving except for his chest moving forward and falling back. He was absolutely silent as well, making Edith's nerves stand on end. The silence was eerie, the promise of dozens of villagers occupying the space in several hours, somehow adding to her feeling of discomfort.

Finally, Thomas inhaled. "I have something for you."

She turned to him, "Really? I didn't get you anything."

He looked to her, his face showing a new emotion that she couldn't name. "It's not a Christmas present. I had been wanting to give it to you for some time, but, I couldn't part with them. I think it's time, now." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a long box, handing it to her.

Careful not to fall back or on her face, Edith took the box and opened it, gasping. "Thomas?"

Within the box was a set of keys, some long and spindly, others short and modern. Spreading the keys apart was a huge garnet ring that Edith could recognize anywhere. These were the keys to all rooms in Allerdale Hall and the ring of the lady of the house. All were items that Edith should have been given when she first arrived to the old house, the ring the only thing that she had been allowed to have by Lucille until it was ripped from her finger.

Edith looked to Thomas. "Finally."

He nodded slowly. "I am going to the land office when they open again. I want to begin the documents that will sign over Allerdale Hall to you."

Her stomach seemingly fell from her body. "You want to what?"

"When I hang for my crimes, the state will try to seize the house. With you as the title owner, they cannot do that. You can sell the house, or close it up. You might even want to take a match to those horrible curtains and then step out for visiting hour." He chuckled, tears touching his eyes. "It is yours to do as you will."

Edith swallowed. That horrible house that she never wanted to see again, her property? The legacy that he had fought so hard for, the dream he had to restore it to its full beauty, signed over to her?

"Why, Thomas?"

He paused before answering. "You gave me everything you had, and I didn't at first. Now I am giving you what you deserve. Starting with the keys I hadn't the heart to take from Lucille. You are Lady Edith Cushing Sharpe, darling. You deserve to be treated like it."

Edith felt a fist rise in her throat. "You think you're going to die, don't you?"

"I know I will."

"Thomas, no!" She threw her arms around him, making the keys jingle. "I won't let you!"

"It's how the law works, Edith."

"No!" She felt the tears pour over and she looked at him. "Where is he? That dark knight that fought his sister for me! Where is that hero that saved me from Crimson Peak?"

His eyes shimmered and his hands wrapped around her.

"Where is he?" Edith demanded, "Where is my hero that drove us through the snow without his coat, who nearly lost his hands in the cold?"

Thomas inhaled, "I'm right here, Edith."

"Then fight! Fight for us! Sir and Lady Sharpe, together! Fight the law! For me, Thomas!"

His tears overflowed and he held her close. They wept as one beneath the gazebo, not noticing the stopping of the descending snow, preserving the moment. They both knew that Thomas was willing to go the full length of what he owed to his wives. They knew that he would happily ascend the steps of the gallows if it meant that he would be properly punished for his crimes.

But Edith would fight for him. Punishment was acceptable, but she would fight for her dark knight with everything that she had. She couldn't let him go, not now. Not when he had given her everything she had missed when they married. Now it was her turn. She was going to give him all that she had left even if it made her a penniless widow.


	6. Chapter 6

Part II

Chapter Six

Village of Redsett

March 1902

Edith sat at her writing desk, hands folded in her lap, typewriter silent. Next to her, in a brown paper envelope, lay her confession to the courts of what had occurred from the moment she met Thomas to the moment Mr. Mason had visited her in Doctor Turner's office. Alan had come by one day in February and convinced her that she should only include facts, not artistic "buttering". So, she cut out the interactions with the Spectre Wives, the description of her allure to her husband, even her making Thomas a hero.

Cutting so much from an article of writing seemed to have sucked the soul from her. She looked upon her pens with distain and her typewriter with the same vigor as a schoolmaster upon a sooty hearth after teaching the whole rainy day. It was Thomas who recommended that Edith consider writing her side of the story in the form of a novel and changing the names of the participants in the hope of publication. The thought of publication was alluring, but to tell the world a series of lies when they had freed themselves from such a ball and chain, Edith didn't know if she had it within her. Thomas had smiled, "Socrates once said that writers were diviners, though they might not always know what they were divining. If you feel nervous, well, then I think you are on the verge of greatness, my darling."

Thomas had bloomed during the long winter months. He could not find it in himself to stay all hours inside their hotel room and found temporary employment in the machine shop at the edge of town. Seeing him return to her with such a smile upon his face made Edith ache with joy. He told her everything, every minute of working with cogs and gears, all twisting and obeying the command of steam power. For a solid week, he devoured his breakfast and rushed off to the machine shop, fixing clocks, farming machines, and even the automobile of a wealthy Lord Castle whose own mechanic had contracted measles. All the while, Edith waited in the hotel room, writing on a small pad of notepaper and reading "Jane Eyre" when she was too bored to stare at the wall again.

At the start of the second week, Edith confessed her sheer boredom to her husband. She knew that he would feel guilty that he had to leave her in their room because he could not carry her up and down the hotel stairs, but she couldn't help it. He apologized profusely, then left the next day, arriving as Edith was dressing for bed that night long after his usual hours. He had begged a job from Lord Castle, asking for temporary employment but receiving a full-time position when the mechanic died from his disease. With his first wage, Thomas rented a small cottage in the village, a one-story blessing, and moved them into it immediately.

Alan had written to his mother and sister back home in Buffalo, asking for them to send his opthomology equipment to Redsett. He had rented a room from a local spinster, using the garden shed as an office for both the village and the neighboring town. Since it was established that a talented opthomologist was residing in the quaint little village, a handsome and wealthy doctor at that, Alan had been flooded with visitors. Edith joked with him on his daily visits about these fluttering women, even inspiring a smile from him every now and then.

"I heard Miss Bandon is quite attractive," Edith had told him. "Why not consider entertaining her?"

"Her father owns a toilet factory in Carlisle." Alan had told her, "He heavily implied that he wanted me to abandon my practice and join him in the business if I married his daughter. I've been down the toilet as of late, I want to come up from it, now."

Edith giggled into her teacup, ignoring the way he looked at her. She had become the expert in guiding him away from confessing his heart to her since their uncomfortable confrontation in Doctor Turner's office. She didn't mind the looks he gave, only his words. So long as she kept teasing, so long as she pretended happy, she could ignore his love for her.

But as the days crawled closer to spring, Edith found little to laugh about. The three of them knew, even if they didn't say anything to each other, that Mr. Mason would be coming with a warrant to search Allerdale Hall for evidence of murder. Thomas's movements were laden with this thought, even if he did his best to keep face. He took Edith to her doctor's appointments, helped her when her cast came off, and brought her meat to cook for their supper wrapped in brown paper and twine each night. But she could see that he was counting down the days when he would march down the village street to be investigated by Mr. Mason.

They had thought that the day would have arrived sometime after St. Valentine's Day. Thomas had proven this when he went back to Allerdale Hall one day to gather the deed to the house to pass it onto Edith, bringing back the document and a souvenir of Enola Sciotti's typewriter for Edith to write upon. They had held each other in a tight embrace that night, as though the tighter they held each other would make up for the years they wouldn't share together. It was all for naught for when they awoke, a blizzard had attacked overnight, prompting several house fires from careless embers. Edith had not been one to go to church growing up, but she made sure she and Thomas attended that Sunday, praying thanks the whole service for the snow when others were praying to make it stop.

They had received few visitors when they had moved in, welcoming the elderly women who flocked to gossip like moths to a flame. Though they were pleasant to talk to, Edith knew that they were the village's Guinea pigs to see if it was safe to be seen with a murderer and his wife. Evidently, it was not socially acceptable to call upon them until Thomas had been cleared.

"I thought there would be more company," Edith confided one evening in the parlor when Thomas helped her clear the dinner table after one such visit. "I don't mind it, I like not having a full social agenda. But a Baronet in town should be a greater to-do, I would think."

"It is the nature of my crime, darling." Thomas had told her, taking the stack of plates. "They knew my father to be a cold, distant man that hurt a great many villagers. Sore hearts might have painted me in the same light and the village might just be keeping their distance to see which painting they wish to hang in their parlors."

Edith had scowled at him as she unbuttoned her sleeves. "Poor choice of words."

He had chuckled and handed her the soap, taking up the drying towel. "Don't like swaying along with my prose?"

She had grinned despite herself, "I find it horrid."

"I find you a bit stiff around the collar." He had taken her waist and nibbled gently on her ear, "Don't be so grave."

The only one they could depend on arriving every day at four fifteen for tea was Alan. What distaste Thomas had for his rival, he swallowed it and allowed him in. Sometimes, if Thomas had a particularly good day, he would invite Alan to dinner and the two would speak cordially of events printed in the Cumberland Times.

The small clock on the fireplace mantle chimed the hour, bringing Edith back to the present. Four o'clock, time for tea. She swept into the kitchen, lit the stove, and put the kettle on, gathering the ingredients for a proper English tea. She spooned the Darjeeling leaves into the blue china teapot that came with the house, readied the cream and sugar bowls, and took out the Battenberg cake she had made. She had asked one of the elderly ladies the recipe for proper tea as well as a good tea cake and received these recipes. It came at a cost, though.

"Lady Sharpe, I saw you leaving Mr. Mount's shop with the tea tin hugged close to your bosom." Mrs. Forrester had asked, "Why did you do so?"

Edith had hesitated, then answered: "My sister-in-law used poison in my tea when she still lived, Mrs. Forrester. Since then I am ever so particular of who prepares my tea. I did not realize that I had held the tin so closely as to warrant such an audience."

How they looked at her the rest of the week! Edith almost didn't want to go out, but Thomas had insisted on a daily walk after supper. He had certainly noticed, but said nothing, his hands stroking her to peace each time they saw the onlooking gossipers. "They know the truth," He had whispered as their shoes tapped the cobblestone streets. "You're a victim."

The door knocker sounded throughout the house, startling her, followed by the customary entrance of Alan. "Afternoon, Edith!"

She smiled and looked up, seeing him peel off his heavy overcoat and kick off his boots. "Hello, Alan!"

"I've had the most grueling day," He sighed, hanging his hat on his self-designated peg. "I've fitted three patients for glasses, chided four for not using their glaucoma drops properly, and received six invitations for tea and a garden party. All of them delivered by some young lady in her casual best." He smiled when he stepped onto the carpet. "I'll be writing rejection notes all evening."

Edith swallowed, "It wouldn't hurt to accept one, Alan."

"And have the tongues wagging from here all the way to the Fourth of July? No, thank you."

"You know the Brits don't celebrate the Fourth of July, Alan?" Edith scoffed as she turned to take the kettle off the stove.

"Some of the guys at school and I did." He chuckled, taking a seat at the table, "We even threw tea into the Thames!"

Edith laughed, "How splendidly horrid, Alan!"

"God bless America, Edith." Alan smiled.

Edith poured the boiling water into the teapot and set it on the table, cutting Alan a piece of Battenberg.

"Something on your mind, Edith?"

She looked at him and shook her head.

"You can't lie to me, pirate. I know you better than that."

She inhaled. "Garden party."

He nodded, understanding. "The spring is coming. Just yesterday I saw buds on the moor."

Edith sat down across from him. "I saw buds on the rose bushes in the front." She gestured to the three bushes out the front window. "The trees have little nibs on them, too."

"How are you doing?"

She looked away, feeling a thousand times heavier. "I'm scared."

"Does it have anything to do with the baby?"

She whirled to him, eyes wide. "What…?"

Alan cocked his head to the left. "I'm a doctor, Edith. I cannot help but find patterns in the village's gossip. You've been to the general store nearly every day these past few weeks, always picking up packages of chocolate biscuits. I saw the empty packet of this week's sweets next to your typewriter," He turned to make certain one of them was still there, then turned back. "And Thomas has mentioned that you have a sudden aversion to chicken, craving lamb roasted with salt, pepper, and garlic, and topped with cheese shavings. Edith, you hated cheese topped on anything but fruit the last I knew you. There's also the… uh… laundry gossip. You haven't found the need to purchase extra soap in the last month. I've given to understand that 'extra soap' is a female coded phrase-"

"Okay! Yes, I'm familiar with it!"

"Sorry, just telling you what I heard." His eyes travelled from her face to her stomach and then back again. He inhaled, "Are you, Edith?"

Edith leaned back, uncomfortable. "I-I haven't confided in Thomas anything yet, Alan. I've, noticed things that made me wonder. But, I am far from certain. I was pregnant only once before but couldn't tell anything."

Alan exhaled, taking up the teapot. "Your first child was an unfortunate tragedy." He poured them a cup of tea each, adding milk and a lump of sugar. "If it is enough to wonder, it is worth investigating. As a physician who served your father, I must recommend an examination. I also have to give you an initial diagnosis that you are expecting a baby."

That did it. Hearing those words made Edith's façade break and spew tears and hiccups, doubling over in her chair, clutching her middle. Alan set the teapot down with a loud clunk and embraced her, rubbing her back whilst she cried.

How can I have a baby now? Edith thought. How, when Thomas was going to be tried and possibly executed, could I give him a child we so desperately want to raise together? They had seen the baby carriages in the general store and in catalogs from London when they went on their evening walks, they had both fantasized about the day when they would have need of buying one. She hadn't figured that they would be needing one so soon.

The door opened and Thomas called out to her, sending Edith into another fit of moans and whimpers.

"Edith!"

Thomas's footsteps thundered to them, the sound of a package shoving the tea items aside. "Edith! Darling, what's wrong?"

"Sir Thomas, I think we should get Edith into bed."

"What's happened to her?"

"I will tell you as soon as she calms down." He leaned into Edith's ear. "Come on, Edith. To bed with you."

She walked, half supported by Alan, the other half by Thomas, to the bedroom at the rear of the house. She had taken great pains to work with the wallpaper they had been given, a great ugly wallpaper that tried to mimic Indian patterns, but failed miserably. Edith had used a bolt of similar sage green to make curtains and a duvet cover, making her satisfied in the belief that perhaps the wallpaper had been intentional. Now Edith laid on their bed, crying and fighting to control herself while Thomas worried and tracked mud into the house, still in his overcoat and top hat.

"What happened?" He growled to Alan. "Tell me!"

"I've come to some gossip that had been confirmed by my being here over time. She needs a proper examination, but I am under the belief that," He sighed, "That you and Edith are expecting a baby."

Thomas fell silent, making Edith look to him. He had gone ghastly white, and his eyes nearly tripled in width. He turned to his wife. "I thought they were mistaken," He nearly whispered.

"I'm so sorry." Edith cried, meaning every syllable.

"It's not your fault," He assured her, turning away. "It's mine." With that, he walked out of the room.

AHAHAH

The smell of cooking lamb called out to her, making her stomach churn and flutter, but Edith held strong. Thomas must be cooking, Edith thought. She dried her eyes and crawled out of bed, knowing that Alan must have left for Thomas to do something so feminine. She pushed the kitchen door open and smiled at the sight of her husband in a white apron that she used for cooking, frying lamb steaks in a large skillet with a cooking magazine propped open against the flour jar and a heavy spoon turned to a page on vegetables for side dishes.

Thomas turned around, smiling. "Hello, love."

The affection upon his face nearly started a new downpour of tears. She crossed the kitchen floor and held him close. "I don't want this baby without you."

"You don't even know if you are pregnant."

"We both know that's a lie, Thomas." They held each other close, the sizzling of the lamb the only noise. Edith looked up at him. "Where did you learn to cook?"

He smirked, "Lucille was a despicable chef. I read the recipes and instructed her on what to do. It's quite easy when you get the hang of it. The dismissal of a proper cook makes you learn rather quickly." He released her and picked up a bowl of cheese shavings. "Now, would you like to drizzle the cheese upon the lamb, or pick at it with your fingers?"

She answered by picking up a good pinch of shavings and stuffing them into her mouth, smiling.

Thomas turned back to their supper and flipped the steaks. "Let's stay in from our daily walk, tonight." He told her, "I don't want to tax you."

"What will the neighbors say if we don't walk, Thomas? Besides, I want to go. I've gotten used to seeing everyone. And I won't have the opportunity when the baby gets big." She touched her stomach, smoothing it over her corset. Then, she looked at him. "Thomas, what happened to your first baby? Yours and Lucille's?"

He froze, cooking fork hovering over the meat. When he resumed his movements, he removed the meat from the skillet, untied the apron, and hung it up. "My son was born malformed." He told her, not looking at her. "The wound that was made over his passing, it hurts me still, darling. The malformity of my baby," He looked at her, eyes glittering with tears, "I cannot tell you how much it pained him. Day and night, he cried and day and night we could not help him alleviate it."

"When did he die?"

"Shortly before Enola." He opened his mouth to say more, but leaned against the counter and rolled his head back on his shoulders. "She, was a nurse and trained chemist. She said… she said she could help him." His eyes watered, and he clenched his fists.

"Don't tell me anymore, Thomas." Edith commanded. "Not until you're ready."

He looked at her, shoulders falling slowly. "I've got to tell you sometime."

"Yes, but, not today." She moved over to the pantry and withdrew a box of mushrooms. "Let's see if I can swallow these."

She couldn't. Thomas held her hair back as she retched into the kitchen sink, their supper cooling on the table. "Well, at least we know now that you don't take to mushrooms."

"The smell!" Edith choked.

Thomas pulled her back when she was ready and handed her a glass. "Take some port." He commanded, "I keep it in the bathroom, on the other side of the bathtub."

As she obeyed, Edith could hear him pumping water into the sink to wash away her mess. The thought of it sloshing around and slurping back down the drain made her hurtle toward the tub, gripping the edge and the glass, her stomach heaving but relieving nothing. The bottle Thomas concealed from her was half empty and standing up right where Thomas had told her, making the functioning part of the brain wonder where in the world did he get the bottle and why didn't she hear about it. Or notice, it was a rather tall bottle in a rather obvious place if one happened to look behind the tub.

Edith swished a good sip of the burning liquid around her mouth before swallowing, feeling ready to breathe fire afterward. She looked at the label on the bottle, then rolled her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Whiskey, is not, port!"

Thomas poked his head in, "Sorry. It was port last week."

"Why are you hiding this from me, Thomas?"

He took the bottle from her, looking at it. "It numbs my hands after a glass or two. I adore engineering, but the tight mechanics of automobiles is not my specialty."

Edith stood. "Why didn't you alert me of that, Thomas?"

"Rent is not easy to come by if you do not have a job, Edith. Until Cumberland is fixed with more machinery, I will be hard pressed to, well, hard press."

She looked at him and asked for his hands. His pale hands, once so smooth and taken care of were now dried and blistered, even cut on the knuckles. She looked at him, prompting a slight nod. "Snow was a godsend. Did you never wonder why my gloves were always so wet? I would pack them with snow and shove my hands in them to numb the pain."

"I'm so sorry, Thomas. I didn't realize when I should have."

"Don't be. It's taken me some time to realize that I need not keep any secrets from you."

He turned his palm in her hand and brought them up to his lips, kissing Edith's knuckles. "Now, let us eat and then walk."

They moved out of the bathroom, Thomas leaving the glass Edith used for her mouthwash in the kitchen. No sooner had they sat down at their table, then the door knocker was ringing out to the occupants. Thomas looked to Edith, then stood. "Stay here,"

He opened the door, revealing to Edith Mr. Mason and one of his deputies. Edith felt her body go cold, her stomach undecided in it's movement. Mr. Mason wore a black suit, something that made Edith's author mind stir rabidly, and carried a parchment envelope in his hands. Upon his face was the look of a man who knew that everyone present understood why he was before them. Formality commanded him to speak either way.

"Sir Thomas Sharpe, it is with misgivin's that I serve you with a warrant for search and seizure of your family estate Allerdale Hall for evidence of the murder of Lady Lucille Sharpe, Lady Pamela Sharpe née Uupton, Lady Margaret Sharpe née McDermont, and Lady Enola Sharpe née Sciotti."

Thomas took the parchment. "You would like to go now, Mr. Mason? It's almost dark."

"Noo, Sir Sharpe. We will be cooming by at seven tomorrow morning. My man here," He clapped the shoulder of his deputy, a burly man with flaming red hair and a face like a bulldog, "Mr. Kennedy, he'll be watching your house to make certain you doon't go for a bottle of milk in Liverpool."

Thomas nodded. "I will be ready come morning, Mr. Mason."

Mr. Mason touched the rim of his hat to Edith and stepped away, Mr. Kennedy taking a seat on the garden stool outside of the door. When Thomas closed the door, he set the envelope down next to Edith, sat right down at the table and cut into his meat. Edith looked at him. "That's all you're going to do?"

He looked at her and swallowed his food. "I'm hungry. No offense, but I've been deterred from my meal twice and haven't had any lunch. I'm going to eat." He shoved another square of meat into his mouth. "It's not like they were unexpected."

AHAHAH

Thomas lit the oil lamp in their bedroom, taking with him a leather folder from the writing desk to their bed where Edith reclined, taut with worry. Gently, he laid down next to her and opened the folder, showing her the legal documents for the house. "These are the official transfer papers of Allerdale Hall from me to you. I do not want the state to seize the property from you for anything, citing that it's my estate. It's not, anymore." He withdrew a pen and handed it to her, "So please, sign for it."

Edith took the pen, but hesitated. "What about your machine, Thomas?"

He frowned, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It was your heart and soul. No matter Lucille's atrocities to gain funding, you were passionate about it. If I sign this, I feel like you've given up on your passion."

"I have no time for passion, Edith. I'm going to be arrested, tried, and then likely hanged. My machine fits into none of that."

She swallowed. "Does it work?"

He exhaled, tearing from their bed but leaving the documents next to her. "It did for two hours," He snarled. "That was before the heavy snow, with constant movement each day and a supply of coal. What it is like now, I can only guess at."

"But, it worked."

"So what?" He walked to the end of their bed and gripped the footboard. "There's no one who would be willing to work on a murderer's wild machine, no one who would be willing to go to Crimson Peak wondering if the red clay is blood from those who have died there! Why do you care?"

"Because if the machine works then you aren't a failure. The jury can believe that you took what your sister gave you because there was no way to reverse it."

Thomas straightened. "And here I was thinking you were going to sell the patent and run."

"I'm not running, Thomas. So stop expecting me to."

He swallowed. "Sign, and I'll check it tomorrow when we go."

Edith promptly donated her signature, exhaling. She was now the sole owner of her torture house, her nightmare establishment. Lucille's pride and joy was now hers in name and in house keys. Thomas asked for the folder and stored it back in the secretary drawer. "Might I ask you something, darling?" He faced her. "What did you mean, earlier? What did you mean that you didn't want to have the baby without me?"

Edith could see that his face was etched with fear, the dim light of the lamp making his worry all the more pronounced. "What are you thinking, Thomas?" She asked, unable to answer his initial question.

He inhaled deeply, "Please, don't kill the baby because of me."

"I'm not going to do that, Thomas." She told him, leaning across the bed to touch his hand. "I meant that I want to spend every moment of my pregnancy with you. I want you to be there when the baby is born, kissing my forehead when I am far too exhausted to do anything. I want you to see our child's first steps, beg him to repeat his first word, give her her first dance. That's what I mean when I say that I don't want this baby without you. I want you to be there with us."

Thomas swallowed, "There's… Alan."

Edith looked at him. "Alan? The two of you can hardly bear each other's presence, you wish for him to raise our child in your stead?"

He exhaled something that could have been a snarl. "I hate him. He loves you and makes no disguise of it. He comes in each day like this is his home, talks to you as if you were his wife." Thomas sighed, "He would be willing to forgive you for ever loving me, for ever, laying with me. If I had to hand pick a father for my child in place of me," He closed his eyes, "I would pick Dr. Alan McMichael."

Edith sat up on her knees, pulling his arms around her. "But you're here now. And you are a father." She kissed him slowly, making him respond to her.

They kissed, savoring each other as if it was their last time. When he pushed her back onto the bed, they realized that this could very well be their last night together. Thomas undressed himself while Edith began her untangling, graciously accepting his help with her corset and stockings. He rose so that they could be face to face, but he did not touch anywhere besides her stomach. Gently, Thomas guided them back to the bed where they sat and rubbed her stomach, the both of them noting how firm her little belly had become. "Lie back," He commanded softly, his face chiseled with longing. Edith obeyed, resting her head on the duvet cover and pillow, her heart pounding.

Thomas nestled his head onto her stomach, hearing her innards burp and grumble, rubbing his thumb on her sides. She could hear him whisper to their baby, but what he said Edith couldn't determine it. She ran her fingers through his curly black hair, sending shivers down his spine with a small smile on her lips. He needed to be reassured. She knew it, so did he. Edith sighed and wet her lips.

 _"Let the wind blow kindly  
In the sail of your dreams  
And the moonlight your journey  
And bring you to me  
We can't live in the mountains  
We can't live out at sea  
Where oh, where oh, my lover  
Shall I come to thee?"_

Slowly, Thomas turned to look at her, his eyes glittering, his features soft. "I'll sing this to our baby, Thomas." Edith breathed. "It will be pure, innocent. Our baby will never have a bad moment when it hears this lullaby."

Thomas smiled and rose to crawl on all fours to her lips, pressing his forehead to hers. "I love you, Edith." He kissed her, "Never forget that."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Allerdale Hall

Thomas felt a sense of dread and joy at coming home, at seeing little buds of purple bloom on the moors, and grass poke through the claret colored clay to catch what little sun seeped through the clouds capping the rolling hills in the distance. In the nearer line of vision, they saw the towering, rotting mansion that he had long called home. The wicked breathing that he had once tried to convince himself was a sick wheeze that needed curing rather than an actual living, breathing monster. One that had actual blood pumping through it and life -or lives- whisking about inside. But the memories he had were the liveliest of them all, some good and mostly bad and good masked as bad all jumbled into one great, elaborate heap. But the dread came in knowing that he would have to reveal this once magnificent house to be a horde of terrors, a place where the ghosts were the most benign creatures to stalk through the empty halls.

"Welcome home, Sir Sharpe," One of the deputies taunted from his horse.

Thomas inhaled, his lips widening at the smell of wet earth and a hint of sheep, the whistling wind tempered ever so slightly by the incoming growth. Oh, these were his moors! This was his home, indeed. He looked left, seeing the hills rise and dip across the valley and let himself smile, "Ad montes oculos levavi."

"What's 'e sayin'?" Another deputy demanded, spitting a wad of tobacco.

"'To the hills I lift my eyes.'" Mr. Kennedy, the deputy that had watched over the Sharpe's cottage the night before, grunted. "Family motto?"

"I'm told that my great-grandfather built the house based on that verse." Thomas answered, eyeing the condition of his machine from the investigation party. "He wanted a structure that could be seen from London."

"I'll bet he didn't count on the trees being in the way."

Thomas chuckled, "That he didn't."

"I heard that this place is haunted." The first Deputy, Mr. Talbot, told them as they neared the towering arched front doors, the high tower over the entryway seeming to lean over and peer at her new visitors. "Did'ya hear that, Sir Sharpe? Yous got ghosts in the place."

Thomas dismounted his horse and patted it's long nose, making sure it wouldn't run off. "I wouldn't know." He faced them and inhaled. "They had the most interaction with my wife, not me. They showed her what lies my sister and I spun."

The Deputies looked at each other, but Thomas turned to Mr. Mason. "Shall I hand over the keys, now?"

Mr. Mason shook his head, patting his horse's side. "I'll cut you a deal, Sir Sharpe. If you help uus by tellin' uus which closet you're keepin' your skeletons, I'll let you take hoome to Lady Sharpe whatever you may, so long's it not evidence to incriminate you. What'd you say?"

Thomas swallowed. He glanced to his machine and nodded, "it's a bargain. But be prepared to look in places other than the closets. And stay close," He turned to the deputies, "There are parts of the house that are unsafe. Such rooms are locked for overall protection. If you desire to go into a specific room, ask me and I will unlock it for you. I cannot tell you how many rooms there are in the house," He turned to Mr. Mason, "I've never known. But those that Lucille and I occupied are clear, or they will be." He opened his jacket and withdrew the set of keys Edith had given him that morning. "Shall we, gentlemen?"

AHAHAH

Village of Redsett

Edith waited patiently in Miss Henson's parlor, waiting for Alan to return for luncheon at the hotel. She had gone to the post office and picked up an envelope of money sent to her by her lawyer, Mr. Ferguson, along with a letter of concern as to why she had not transferred her funds and property to Thomas, then visited Doctor Turner's office, asking him and Nurse Fox for a pregnancy examination. They each concluded the same thing: Edith was two months pregnant. She wanted to tell Alan before word got out to the menagerie of old women, invading her home with cakes and old hand knits removed from dusty tissue paper. They had promised her such an outcome when the topic of children came up and so far they hadn't given her reason to doubt.

In the safety of Miss Henson's parlor, Edith could sip cream tea and nibble sandwiches that Miss Henson had made in observation of Victorian tea and luncheon standards. Apparently, the fifty year old woman was trying just as hard as the other ladies of Redsett to gain Alan's affections, her charms specializing in cuisine.

"Edith?" Alan entered through the garden door, removing his white doctor's coat and hanging it on a hook. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Edith stood, her smile coming forth. "Hello, Alan. I thought you could join me for luncheon at the hotel."

"That's awfully kind of you." He crossed the floor and hugged her. "I saw you go to the doctor's office," He whispered in her ear. "Come out to the shed with me, we can speak in private."

AHAHAH

Edith sat on the chair Alan used to examine patients. He moved a red cherry wood box filled with optic lenses aside and sat across from her. "I heard the news this morning. Mr. Mason took Thomas early to Allerdale Hall. How are you feeling?"

"Frightened. Distrubed, and overall quite rigid with worry."

"Someone's returned to her typewriter."

"I've written the names of my characters in an endless paragraph, nothing more."

"I'm certain Cavendish and Rosalie are grateful that you've remembered them after all this time. What happened to your manuscript? You had it with you in Allerdale Hall."

Edith looked to her right where Alan had moved gardening tonics to the uppermost shelves to accommodate his optical equipment. "Lucille destroyed it. She threw it into the fire when she was trying to get me to write my name upon the transfer papers so I am forced to rewrite it."

"That was cruel. Are you keeping the same plot?"

"Alan," Edith sighed, slumping in her chair, "As much as I would love to discuss the elements of my fiction, I would prefer to speak of the reality of the present."

"Apologies. Please continue."

Edith inhaled, "Thomas signed over the deed to Allerdale Hall to me. I own the house, the mines, everything. And as I have yet to sign over the rest of my property, particularly my money, to my husband, I do indeed hold all the keys. So when he goes to trial, I want to open up the clay mines and try Thomas's machine, full scale."

Alan balked at her. "What? Edith-"

"If Thomas's machine works, if it proves to be a success, then I can post Thomas's bail or prove that he was being forced to work by his sister." She paused, letting her hopes sink in. "I need help with this, Alan. I can get Mr. Finlay, Thomas's overseer, to work on the machine without difficulty. But, I need people who will work on the machine and possibly in the mines. I figure-"

"Edith, where is this coming from?"

"That if we can make at least two thousand dollars worth of quality bricks, the judge and jury will see that we are serious and that Thomas wasn't conspiring just for the money."

"Edith." He touched her hands, sliding his fingers into hers so that she had to stop speaking and hold his hands. "Edith, answer me. Why are you helping him? He hurt you, he lied to you. He helped kill your father."

"That was Lucille!"

"But," He looked at her, "He knew she was going to do it."

Edith shook her head, "No, he didn't! She killed my father because he insulted them. Thomas was going to do things properly. He told me he would!"

"It does not matter, Edith!" He squeezed her hands, "Why are you giving all that you have to this monster? Your property, your time, your life, why are you throwing it away on him?"

Edith swallowed, then inhaled. "Because I love him, and he loves me. He never gave anything back to his wives but a name and a cup of poisoned tea. To me, he gave the truth. He gave me his passion out of true love when he wasn't supposed to." She looked at him. "Alan, you should know that he told me that he wanted you to raise our child if he should be imprisoned or…" She couldn't say the word.

Alan nodded, looking away. "And what about you?" His eyes met hers, "Did he give me permission to love you?"

"You've never needed his permission to love me, Alan. You being here, coming in the first place and staying after so much was done to you. Staying even though you know that I am in love with another man, that's love Alan. Love that I don't deserve."

He touched her chin, Edith didn't pull away. "I know. But, I don't care." He leaned forward and whispered, "You will always be my pirate princess."

His kiss was soft and startling, but Edith accepted it either way. He was warmer than Thomas, and gave her his full passion with each tilt of his head. Edith slid her hands to cup the back of his neck, mussing his neat blond hair. He pulled her close, gripping her shoulders before sliding around her waist to keep her in a firm embrace. Edith adjusted her mouth against his, her heart hammering in sync with his.

She pulled away suddenly, perspiration seeping through her high collar, her eyes watery but not crying. He watched her, blue eyes on fire. Edith stood, he mimicked, biting his lip for a moment while his chest heaved. Edith stepped away from the patient's chair and opened the shed door.

"Edith, wait!"

She reached the garden door with Alan's name and office painted on a sign, and pushed it open. The gate swung behind her with a _clack!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Allerdale Hall

Thomas rolled the blueprints he had last worked on into cylindrical cases with a fresh set of notes. The pressure valve and one chain on the harvesting machine needed replacing, one of those specially manufactured pressure valves sitting in its wooden box on his desk. Without this, the entire machine would be nothing more than an avant-garde paperweight in the front yard, he made certain to record that in his notes.

The last he had seen of the deputies and Mr. Mason, they were fishing what they could find of Margaret's body from one of the clay vats, detailing that her head, torso, arms, and pelvis were pulled from the clay but not her legs. Margaret's legs had come apart from her body from the years of being stored in the vat. Enola's body was completely attached, though, even bearing some semblance of breasts and thigh muscles. Thomas had been interrogated of how he knew which bodies were which, trying to catch him in a lie. But Thomas knew his wives. He would always know them regardless of how they looked after time.

"And Pamela?" Mr. Mason had asked. "Where is she?"

"I buried Pamela myself." Thomas admitted. "I wanted to do that for her. She was older than myself, and my first wife. I felt I owed it to her."

"And not Margaret or Enola?"

"Lucille said we couldn't risk the workers noticing us digging graves. We had to get rid of the bodies without them knowing. And these were just sitting here," He kicked the cement vat, the motion making a muted sound, "The acid in the clay would slowly decay the bodies and we wouldn't have to smell them." He sighed deeply, "So simple."

Mr. Mason had granted him a treat of being able to take his first souvenir for this admittance. Thomas had left vowing that they would have to stay the night, receiving taunts and hearing nervous questions fire around the deputies to Mr. Mason. Thomas had barely set his blueprints by the door to be inspected by the inspector when Mr. Kennedy turned the corner. His step was the loudest thing Thomas had heard since his father passed away, it was quite unnerving. "What has happened?"

"We're going to stay the night," Mr. Kennedy grunted. "There's far too much to uncover."

Thomas nodded. "I told Mr. Mason, thus. Will he be sending back a messenger to inform the town of the development?"

"He will indeed."

"Will you tell the messenger to inform my wife? I promised her I would be back before the dark. I shan't want her to feel something had occurred on the way."

Mr. Kennedy swept his eyes over Thomas's frame. "Why should I give anything to a woman from a man who kills his wives?"

Thomas's chest tightened as did his fists. "Because I found a way to save this one."

"Good for you, but what about her? She'll have to live with the stain you inflicted upon her. Even if she goes back to America, your reputation will follow her."

Thomas swallowed, the scent of dust reaching his nostrils as someone tore off a cover sheet in one of the rooms. "I love her. She knows it. I know my wife, too. She thrives when she is believed to be the black moth in a colony of butterflies. She will survive my reputation, sir. So, I will thank you to inform your man returning to the village to inform my wife of our necessary delay."

With that, he turned his heel and walked back into his workroom.

AHAHAH

Being host of Allerdale Hall, Thomas had the immense honor of gathering blankets and mattresses that could be assembled in the gigantic living room before the fire. The deputies had discovered the small amount of coal and tinder that Lucille had last ordered and promptly used it for a fire to warm what food they had brought with them and heat the water for baths in the guest bathrooms. Thomas was no longer used to missing meals due to his religious purchase of good meat to provide for Edith. He watched the other men with their pasties and sandwiches, staking the meat on forks and warming it over the flame before shoving it quickly back into the bread casing to be consumed. His stomach called out to him, yearning for sustenance. Mr. Mason slid him a half of a sandwich, "Here." He told him. "I want you alive for the trial."

"Thanks." Thomas muttered, taking the sandwich and gratefully biting into it. Corned beef on wheat bread, delicious!

Mr. Mason nodded. "I found the wax cylinders. They were where your wife said they were."

Thomas nodded. Mr. Mason had read Edith's confession on the ride to Allerdale Hall like it was a periodical in a literary magazine on the ride over. Thomas inhaled, "Margaret loved that bloody thing. I was always afraid of it, though. We were in such a depth of lies that I was frightened of what they would leave behind." He swallowed. "I felt like I was picking up grains of sand on a beach with them. They would always leave something behind."

"How did your wife find them though?" Mr. Mason asked, "They were not in an obvious place."

"Enola showed her where they were. That's what she says anyway."

Mr. Mason cocked his eyebrow. "The ghost of your wife showed your wife where to find the truth about you?"

Thomas looked at him and chuckled. "You can't fathom it either, can you?"

Mr. Mason laughed softly. "It's a bit far-fetched, Sir Sharpe."

"Thomas, Mr. Mason. Just Thomas."

Mr. Mason smiled, "Bill, Thomas."

"So, do you believe in ghosts, Bill?"

"None but Jesus, Thomas."

"That's always good. I've never been a church going man," He looked around the towering arches above the living room. "Not much room for God in these halls. Well, that's what my family told me."

"You went during boarding school, didn't you?"

"Oh yes. Churchgoing was required, then." Thomas smiled and ate more of his sandwich. "I liked going to hear the hymns. The sermons, they made me feel equal parts guilty and equal parts relieved. Someone who could forgive everything just because you asked." He exhaled and looked to the fire. "I would only dream of going to church when I came back. Walking to church with my family on Sunday." He trailed off for a moment before shaking his head, "What a fantasy."

Mr. Mason looked at him, studying him as he chewed. "If you promise to go to church on Sunday with your wife, I will arrest you on Monday. Give you an extra day with her."

Thomas hesitated. During the blizzard, they were one of three families that attended that Sunday, the rest of the congregation either helping with those who lost their houses or too comfortable in their beds to leave them. Edith had not been in a social place where she would be the curious object like a statue in a museum. In church, she would be trapped hearing and feeling their sentiments towards him. He nodded, "I will go to church with Edith."

Mr. Mason finished his sandwich and dusted his hands from the crumbs, Thomas doing likewise. "Why her?" Mr. Mason asked, his voice dropping so that his deputies could not hear.

"Why Edith Sharpe neé Cushing?"

Thomas sighed and leaned back on his mattress. "I fell in love." He told him. "Real love. Something that was right and permitted, though her father had strong feelings against me."

"What did he say when you got married?"

"Oh, Lucille had killed him by then. The day I proposed, she did him in." He smiled and looked to the high ceiling. "She wasn't pleased in the slightest that I had chosen Edith, but she trusted me."

"You speak of murder like it was nothing but a coop of tea."

Thomas's smile faded, melancholy seeping into each limb until he was completely numb. "You become accustomed to death around here."

AHAHAH

Village of Redsett

Edith couldn't eat. She made for herself chicken cooked in brandy and a side of rice, but she couldn't eat it. It wasn't the baby, she felt she knew enough of baby related vomiting to know which was involuntary and which was… She couldn't put her finger on it.

She put her plate into a clay keeping pot and stored it in the cooling hamper, then put on the kettle and the stockpot to prepare a bath. As she soaked in the smaller bathtub, she watched the shadows at the foot of the tub caused by the solitary candle flickering on the bath stand next to the bar of soap. Edith ran her hands over her stomach, smiling as she pushed her fingers into the tender pout beneath her breast before becoming firmer towards her belly button. A breeze made the candle flicker violently, rimming the wax like a dancer and catching her attention. Edith frowned, watching the candle burn. She couldn't remember leaving a window open…

Suddenly, she saw the long, claret colored tubers glide over her shoulders and cup her flesh in a grip that was both clamp and icy nothingness. Edith jerked, gasping as she looked down at the tubers and realized that they were fingers. Nine fingers; the ring finger was chopped off.

"Edith."

Edith felt her heart hammer against her chest in a painful sprint, her breathing coming in sharp inhales as her legs kicked up, splashing water everywhere. She looked up, seeing a red skull surrounded by smoking hair peering over her, a meat cleaver wedged into the bone. Edith's breathing worsened, her whole body shivering in the hands of the spectre. She knew who this was and she wanted more than anything to have the horror stories of villagers being walked in upon by their mothers-in-law than this one.

"Edith."

Her jaw opened and closed several times before Edith could ask, "What do you want?"

Lady Sharpe, her rotten lips animated over crooked teeth, answered, "My son. Save my son."

"Thomas?"

Lady Sharpe nodded, a strand of smoking hair falling into Edith's eye but not doing anything but unnerving her more. "Save him from her."

"From who?" Edith leaned further into the water, intrigued but frightened even more. "Tell me, who does he need saving from?"

Lady Sharpe's hands relented, her face distancing from Edith's. "Save him from her."

Edith sat up, nearly slipping underwater. "Please tell me! Who are you afraid of?"

Lady Sharpe's dress absorbed into the bathroom wall, followed by her bodice. "Lucille." It breathed. "Save him from Lucille."

Edith watched her absorb into the wall, sitting on her haunches to watch her go completely. The temperature in the room returned to normal, though the goosebumps on Edith's body didn't, and the candle flickered back into an erect burn, completely undisturbed. Her chest heaved and she gripped the sides of the bathtub, leaning forward to catch her breath.

"Lucille is dead," She whispered to herself. She couldn't forget that line of gushing crimson on the wicked woman's neck. The way Thomas cradled his sister until she fell limp in his arms. The funeral in the frigid winter. Yes, Lucille was dead.

But then again, so was her mother-in-law.

AHAHAH

Allerdale Hall

Thomas watched the men as they slept semi-soundly in the vast and chilly living room. He remembered the last time he slept in this room. It was before their trip to America and Lucille had told him that they needed to do it again. They needed to find a wealthy, naïve girl (Lucille's favorite word was "yarner" for her prey of spinsters or widows) that they could stalk and slaughter. He had been far too angry to go to Lucille's bed and laid his head on the sofa before the great hearth, making his sister believe that he was angry at the thought of having to pretend to love someone other than her again. No, he hated the lies he had to tell, the charm he had to exude. He hated most of all the thought that he had to take a woman who loved him so much that she would give him everything that was ever hers, including her life, and poison her to death. Thomas looked to the dimming hearth, reading the engraved Latin. Perhaps, what he really hated about marrying once more was that regardless of the bride, he could never escape Lucille. His wife would escape by death, but he would remain pinned to Lucille's wall of butterflies.

He laid back down on his blanket and pillow, smiling softly to himself. Edith was the one who got away. She escaped this wretched, rotting pile of wood and ghosts and even carried his child. A baby, conceived out of love and an authentic marriage. She had taught him how to love, how to give love tenderly, face to face and eyes open. He pulled to mind Edith in her nighttime ritual, peeling away at the seemingly one hundred layers of fine tailored clothing that had made Lucille envious. The most compelling thing to Thomas about Edith's ritual was watching her undress her hair from its pins. Such a small amount of pins for such a thick, long mane of gold! When he first saw her hair fall down her back and around her shoulders, he couldn't help but compare her to Lucille. His sister's hair was thick and greasy like raven's feathers. While Edith's was soft like a cat's tail. How often he would stroke that mane from scalp to tip over her shoulder, back, and arms whilst she slept.

Thomas turned his back to the men, smoothing the blankets with one hand and remembered the outline of Edith in bed next to him. His eyes fluttered closed and he smiled completely, recalling her turning in her sleep and seeing in the tangle of her nightgown the soft mounds of her breasts and small round stomach. He bit his lip, recalling the night he distinctly heard his name in a sigh, the same murmur of which she had used in nights prior when he held her to his chest in intoxicating lust. Edith would look at him with warm, doe eyes in their lovemaking, her breath breathing over his chest and cooling him as his body heated and sweated. He would kiss her breasts, always leaning up to reach for her flesh while she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

A scream ripped through the manor, making the deputies shoot up in their makeshift beds, taking inventory of their party. Thomas sat up as well, hearing thundering footsteps echo through the second floor. He looked to the bed next to him, finding it empty. "Mr. Mason," Thomas breathed.

He bolted from his bed, hastily adjusting his wardrobe from sleep comforting slack, followed by Mr. Kennedy and the four deputies. He bolted up the stairs, turning and listening, trying to hear for the man as there was very little to see. The screams echoed again, prompting Thomas to hurtle headlong up the stairs to the third floor. Had the men not followed Thomas, he was certain that two would have been killed from running over the railing and falling through the floor. Thomas halted suddenly, nearly being levelled by the mob. "There he is!" Thomas exclaimed, rushing down the corridor lined with teeth meticulously placed around the ribbed hallway. The hallway Edith had frantically cried she had seen a ghost; the hallway he had done his upmost to avoid out of sheer eeriness.

Mr. Mason, an imposing man on a regular day, was crumpled and shaking upon the cold wood, his face chalk white and his eyes wide, the remnants of a toiletries bag in his fist clenched in a death grip. The sight of him there made Thomas shiver, but he placed his hands on the frightened man's shoulders, feeling the pounding of his heart as he did so. "Mr. Mason, what is it? What happened?"

Mr. Kennedy appeared next to Thomas. "Mason, man! What the devil happened to ye?"

Mr. Mason gasped and uttered a series of noises, none of them making sense. Thomas knew that look. Edith had worn it months earlier. "Was it a woman?" He asked softly, "A woman coated in red?"

Mr. Mason turned wide eyes to him, his face twitching with recognition but still maintaining a haunting, unnerving gaze. "Yes."

"Did she have a meat cleaver stuck in her skull?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Mr. Kennedy and the deputies exclaimed.

Thomas ignored them, waiting for Mr. Mason's answer. He shook his head. "No. She was naked. She carried a baby. She—she just—moaned. And pointed." He gestured to another corridor, his hand shaking furiously. "She wanted to tell me something, but she couldn't say a thing. She only screamed, and her eyes looked..."

"Come," Thomas told them, "I keep the good scotch in the library."

AHAHAH

The hallway decorated with teeth-like spikes along the ribbed archways always disturbed Thomas. As a child he did all to avoid going down this hall as it felt like he was descending a shark's throat; as an adult, this was where the shadows moved on their own in the corners of his eyes. This is where Edith had seen them, the ghosts of his wives.

Thomas whirled around. He could have sworn there was someone, a figure, behind him. He inhaled, commanding his nerves to settle just enough. "Enola?" He called, "Mia bella Enola? Sei qui?" Blood rushed in his ears and his heart hammered painfully, but he waited, listening. In the candlelight, a blue hue washed over the arched ribs spewing from the dusty window. "Enola? Sono Tómas."

The floorboards creaked, raising the hairs and bumps upon his neck as he turned toward the noise. He could see it in the dim of the candelabra, a distinctly feminine figure, swaying with her hands crossed in front of her. As she moved forward, her figure became clearer, redder. As red as the dripping clay on the walls of the foyer below them. Before she came a foot from Thomas, she was in full focus. A wispy, smoking, completed woman carrying a baby, her face pained.

Thomas gasped, "Enola."

The baby twitched in her arms sending all thoughts to flight, but Thomas held strong. He looked to the ghostly figure of his son and smiled softly. "He's no longer in pain?"

Enola's glassy eyes met his, a single word hitting his core though her lips did not move. No.

Thomas nodded and reached out to touch her bony shoulder. His hand went through her like touching fog. Rather frigid fog that came away as red smoke, curling around his hand. "I'm sorry," He breathed. "I am so sorry for what I did to you." He looked to his son, "And to him, most of all."

She made a noise, a guttural moan that sounded much like his name. He looked back to her. There was an intelligence in her eyes, a comprehension as though she were still alive. Edith had been right in her story. Ghosts were very much real and aware of the world they intruded upon.

"What is it, mia bella?"

She moaned again, her mouth opening slant beyond what a normal woman would have been able to endure. He backed away, his heart reminding him of its terror. She moaned his name again and he hesitated. "What is it?" He demanded. "What do you want?"

The baby shivered, causing Enola's bone fingers to caress it's wispy head. She moaned a word, a sound on the cusp of recognition. Thomas frowned, "Say it again."

She did so, pausing to emphasize her warning. "Hoo-heel."

Thomas shook his head. "Hoo-heel?"

Then, he heard it. The trilling of a piano, the eerie plinking of a first note reverberating through the empty house. He whirled to it, his mind playing for him the rest of the wanted piece: a lullaby. He turned back to Enola, making sense of her moans. "No." He breathed.

Her mouth opened wider, touching her collarbone and showing to him a tongue that swelled and stung his sight with scarlet. She screamed an ear-splitting howl that surged ice through Thomas's veins and shot his shoulders back in mortified terror. He bolted, hurtling down the hallway to the clearing of the stairs then down the steps, tripping halfway down so that he rolled, shoulder and chest hitting each blasted step until he fell upon the wooden floor, his forehead bouncing once on the landing.

"Sharpe, man! What's happened?" Mr. Kennedy shouted, entering the house from the outside.

Thomas dug his fingernails into the wood and pulled himself from the stairs, coaxing his beaten body to rise to his elbows at the very least.

Suddenly, they heard it. The piano clanged the same note seemingly a dozen times in a rapid sequence, then stopped. What it gave way to was something much worse.

"THOOOOMMAAASSSS!"

"Get up, man!" Mr. Kennedy screamed, eyes wide. He whirled around to Thomas but the man in question was not on the floor. He was already running out the door.

He flew over the welcoming steps into the house and ran as hard as his pained legs would allow. He heard nothing but his own thoughts encouraging him to flee all the faster, and he saw nothing but the wrought iron gates that guarded the property. From his core, he knew two things: The first was that he had to protect Edith and his child from what horrors he had committed. The second was this: if he died without finding a way to make his ghosts rest, they would come for him and he would be trapped here at Allerdale Hall with them.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Village of Redsett

Edith waited impatiently that Saturday. She went out on aimless walks throughout the village, always scanning the horizon for Thomas and the investigative party. Ordinarily, Edith would have contemplated going out, after all she had nothing to do in the village, but the thought of going back home where her mother-in-law might or might not suddenly appear in was not a welcoming thought. The menagerie of elderly women who occupied her parlor greeted her on the street, heavily hinting at her visit to Doctor Turner's office and what diagnoses might have been given. She gave them as little information as possible, telling them instead of her worry about Thomas and the delay in the investigation party. Two ladies nodded their understanding and took off in opposite directions, apparently telling the town of her preoccupations and encouraging the onlookers to leave her alone.

Alan had not been seen since the day before. If he was avoiding her or was occupied with gaining extra business, Edith could not say. She walked by Mrs. Henson's house, seeing her pruning her rose bushes in the front yard, but no sign of Alan. Finally, Edith took a seat in the small park before a bowling lawn, noting that the grass was coming quickly upon this stretch more than anywhere else in the village. In the park, few families were strolling, enjoying the sunny day after so much gloom of the winter. One of those families even had a small dog, the daughter playing fetch with as they went along. How the sight of that little dog made her ache for her little Papillon! That silly little dog that first introduced her to the spectres.

"Good day, Lady Sharpe."

Edith turned and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. "Hello, Vicar." In earnestness, she hadn't really met the village Vicar. They had shaken hands after her limited visits to the church, but she and Thomas had not stayed for further conversation with the Vicar. Seeing the tall, curly haired man with striking blue eyes and cheekbones so sharp Edith wondered how they didn't cut his face, immediately put Edith into further unease. Perhaps this was a Vicar who took strict attendance.

"What beautiful weather we have today." He replied, smiling into the sun. The rays bounced off his pale face so that his cheekbones almost shone like mirrors.

Edith nodded, "It is most welcome after such a harsh winter." The Brits were never straightforward, that she knew for certain. But what the Vicar could want from her with such small talk, she couldn't say.

He looked down to her, his smile fading to unreadable. "How is Sir Thomas?"

Ah, there it was. "I am not certain, Vicar. He has not come home yet from the search of Allerdale Hall."

"Did your husband ever tell you that it was my sister who taught him his letters?"

"No, he didn't mention it before. I assumed there was a governess, but I was unaware that it was someone from the village."

"She was quite educated. She went to the finest school for vicar's daughters in England and earned a small but reasonable living as a governess." He gestured to the seat next to her, "May I join you?"

"Yes, of course." She gestured to the space next to her and he assumed the seat. "What happened to your sister? Is she still in Cumberland?"

The Vicar fell silent. "She died. We do not know how for certain. We received her body from Sir James Sharpe -that would be your late father-in-law- with a note of regret for her loss. Later, my parents received a letter from Sir Thomas and five guineas. I'll let you guess which letter my mother still has next to a photograph of my sister upon her fireplace mantle."

Edith lifted her eyebrows, "Thomas's?"

The Vicar nodded. "The first letter was written in spectacular calligraphy, on parchment paper with the letterhead of Sharpe and Son, sealed with the Sharpe family seal. The second was neatly written, but had fat tear drops smearing some of the words, you can hardly read the thing. And it was composed on butcher paper likely thrown out with the nightly refuse. Letters, she had told us, were left on Sir James's desk, opened, to be closed with his signet ring. Lady Beatrice had her seal as was customary with her rank, but any family letters sent out were read and approved by Sir James."

Edith looked away. "Thomas was not allowed to write his own grievances about his own governess and so he had to find a way to deliver it behind his father's back."

"Yes, indeed. A shepherdess who rented part of the land delivered it to us." The Vicar told her. He inhaled, making Edith's pause with caution, "Lady Sharpe, do you know why I tell you this story?"

She shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"I tell you because that was the only note of regret to be received by anyone from Sir James. This is including when one of the mining machines exploded causing much damage and harm to the miners. Many of those mining workers were children. Sir James was alerted of the explosion but blamed the miners for not maintaining the machine and refused to send for a doctor, commanding the work to continue. Several of those children died from their injury, Lady Sharpe. The rest were maimed for life. Sir Thomas was forbidden from meeting the victims, regardless if he had befriended the working boys or not."

Edith shook her head, "How terrible."

"Yes, indeed. Sir James was a brutal, self-indulgent man. My sister wrote to us about how he would beat his wife and his daughter. How he worshipped his son until he made a mistake then made him pay horribly for it." He shook his head. "What cruelty for children to endure."

Edith inhaled. "Did Sir James kill your sister?"

"I have long held that belief, Lady Sharpe." He looked at her and dropped his chin so that he looked at her from under his eyebrows, "Her stomach was rather big when we received her body."

"Why do you tell me of such horrible things, Vicar?"

He looked to the family with the dog approaching and spoke to the husband for a moment, reminding him of an appointment with him and the husband's mother for later that week. When they passed, the Vicar turned back to Edith. "Such atrocities committed on that patch of land, Lady Sharpe. Though, I do not tell you these things because I am trying to frighten you. My point is this: Your husband has inherited a terrible legacy. The Sharpe name is not only a name to watch out for in the dealings of industry, but in professionalism as well. There are many who would wish to see the Sharpe name die with Sir Thomas. I have heard that you wish to continue forging ahead with your husband's harvesting machine?"

I'm going to kill Alan, Edith thought. "I do, indeed."

The Vicar turned his body to face her, "I must beg you not to. On my knees if necessary."

Edith leaned back. "Why?"

"Because many of the people affected by the Sharpes are willing to each knot a noose to hang around yours and your husband's necks."

"Mine?" Edith's eyes widened, "Why me when I am one of his victims?"

"Because you have not forsaken him when he has done much to you. You've even conceived a child with him, allegedly of course." He looked to her stomach. "In the eyes of the public, that is the greatest faux pas."

Edith frowned and sat straighter, "What should I have done? Divorced him? Scorned him?"

"According to them, yes. Being a missionary, I applaud your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness." Edith scoffed. "I haven't forgiven him. He lied to me, he poisoned me, he maintained a lover before and during our marriage, an incestuous lover, at that. Why should I forgive him?"

"Well, if you haven't forgiven him, why are you with him?"

Edith swallowed. That was a valid question. She inhaled, "He changed. He rescued me and my best friend from his sister. He killed her and brought us to safety. And I love him. I love him so much its infuriating." She lifted both hands to brush the hair curled around her temples. She inhaled and dropped her hands. "Understanding is not forgiveness, Vicar. Love isn't it, either. Forgiveness isn't either of those."

"No," The Vicar agreed, looking out at the park. "But it begins with both of those."

AHAHAH

They arrived shortly before tea time. Edith heard the commotion walking back with the Vicar back to the church. The moment they confirmed that Thomas was coming home, Edith bade a hasty farewell to the Vicar, grabbed handfuls of her burnished gold skirts and cantered through the streets of Redsett. Others were hurrying to see their loved ones arrive, but Edith blew past them. She needed him. She needed to know if he was safe.

Edith stomped up the steps of the Sheriff's Office, chest heaving, heart hammering, and strands of hair falling into her face. The deputies gathered around the desk of the Sheriff, none of them making eye contact with each other, all swaying and standing apart like trees in a sparse forest.

"Bloody ghost chased you out?" The Sheriff asked, taking his pipe from his mouth and setting it on an ashtray on his desk.

"Aye, sir." Mr. Mason answered, visibly shaken. A brandy glass was in his hands but whatever liquid had been poured into it had been drained. "It was literally a bloody ghost."

The men gave grunts of agreement. One made a different sound and they all turned to Edith, noticing her for the first time. "Lady Sharpe?"

Edith swallowed. "Forgive me, but I'm looking for my husband."

"He went to your house, Lady Sharpe." Mr. Mason told her, putting his glass to his lips before remembering that his courage had not yet been restored. "He wanted to see you, first thing."

"Thank you, gentlemen." She turned her heel and headed home. Alan emerged from among the crowd of onlookers waiting for news, hair disheveled and hat missing. "Edith!"

"Please don't talk to me." She told him, not looking at him. "I have to get home. I have to see Thomas."

Alan turned his heel and followed right along. "Please look at me."

"I made a mistake to involve you in my enterprise. I shouldn't have asked you."

"You did the right thing to ask me, Edith."

She shook her head, "No I didn't. I kissed a man who isn't my husband. I mixed business with pleasure and my father always told me to never, ever join those two together."

"Your father also told you not to marry Thomas, you didn't exactly listen there, either."

"He never said anything of the sort!" She cut across a road, hoping that he would get stuck behind a horse drawn wagon. When she didn't see him come around it, she focused her eyes on the road ahead. "Thomas," She whispered. "Thomas, I'm coming."

"Edith," Alan sighed, appearing next to her and grabbing her arm, forcing her to stop and face him. His eyes were hard, but his look was determined, solid. "Edith, if you're going to follow through with the machine, then I'll be there beside you. Say hello to Thomas for me."

He released her with the feel of a sudden emptiness that she hadn't felt in some time erupting within her like a sink draining. To see him walking away, to hear his steps over the hard wood floor of the avenue sidewalk, she suddenly remembered walking into the morgue in Buffalo to identify her father's body. He had been there, too. And he had stepped back and let her run away to Thomas, too.

AHAHAH

Edith opened the gate to their little yard the same time the front door opened, revealing her handsome husband in a picture of worry, his pale face alighting when he saw her. "Edith!"

"Thomas!"

They threw their arms around each other, holding a tight embrace. He was here, in her arms, safe. To what aches her heart made, beating in sync with his, Edith could not compose the words to describe them at that moment. But, feeling the curls of his black hair against her cheek and closed eye, smelling his eau de parfum of musky sweat and oil, and most of all his arms around her in a vice she didn't want to break, was all that she needed. He was home. She released him slowly, like a dancer indicating a desire to turn their partner, but he would not be moved. He held her, inhaling the back of her neck and tasting what loose strands of hair fell from her upstyle.

Edith smiled, her heart unbearably sore with emotion. "I think we should go in for tea, now."

He flinched, his face coming slowly into her view. With one look, Edith knew that something horrid had happened. His eyes were wide, his thin lips closed but quivering. "I saw her." He breathed. "I saw Enola… and my son."

Those words, those simple words, brought a flood to her eyes and a relief to her shoulders that she didn't know existed. "You, saw…?"

He nodded. The look he gave her was unmistakable. "She was as red as the clay I kept her in."

Edith pulled her into her arms once more, her eyes leaking tears and her breath coming in huge gasps. He had seen them! She thought, He finally saw them! "Come," She gasped, "Come inside and tell me."

AHAHAH

Thomas shook as he sipped his tea, half filled with whiskey. Edith sat quietly, listening to him as he told her everything that had occurred at Allerdale Hall. Everything that had frightened him was exactly as she had told him and Lucille when she had wandered about the house looking for where he had gone in the night. Bitterness occasionally popped into her thoughts in the form of questions like, "I told you this months ago," "Now you see a bloody ghost, why couldn't you have believed me and spare your terror?"

"I'm sorry, Edith." He concluded, "I should have believed you. I had no desire to, then. To think that my wives were haunting us was the last thing I ever wanted." He set his cup down on the saucer and looked at her. "Could you forgive me, darling? For not believing you when I should have?"

Edith felt her chest compress and her eyebrows tense. For a moment, she thought she could breathe fire. Slowly, Edith turned to the cylinder cases he had hung on the coat wall. "What did you bring from Allerdale Hall?"

He paused, noting her diversion. But, he conceded. "Those are the plans to my harvesting machine."

"How is it?"

"The valve controller burst over the winter, and one of the chains needs replacing. But otherwise it's perfect."

"Can it perform under full scale?"

"Possibly, with enough coal and, well, prayer. It worked for two hours straight the last time we ran it. If I am correct, then two hours will be sufficient time to produce enough bricks to sell and fund more permanent changes."

"Does Finlay know how to operate the machine?"

He set his cup onto the table. "Yes, but he will be a pivotal witness in the trial. He wouldn't be able to operate it for long."

"Can you write the directions to changing them down?"

He looked at her as though her intentions were written plainly on her forehead. "I could, if you would promise that you would not go into the house or work on the machine while pregnant."

"I cannot make that promise, Thomas. I am pregnant now and I will not let your machine ruin more when there is work to be done."

"Edith," He sighed and looked at her. "What exactly are you planning? You prove that the machine could work, so what? The only good you do is to create income for you and the baby. I am lost."

"You are not lost, Thomas!" Edith nearly shouted.

"I am lost." Thomas continued as though she had not interrupted him. "But, you can give me these next few weeks."

Edith stared at him, her head wanting to shake but unable to do anything. Was he giving up? No, he wasn't giving up, he had already given up. A long time ago. She swallowed. "Yes, I can give you these next few weeks."

"Alright, then. We will go to church in the morning. As a family."

Edith nodded. "Alright." She wanted to speak with the Vicar with Thomas beside her, anyways.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Attending church that Sunday by this particular Sir and Lady Sharpe was something the usual churchgoer would think to be… peculiar. Dressing in their Sunday best was a must, but when Edith and Thomas looked at their wardrobes to prepare for pastoral inspection, they had absolutely no idea what to put on. Too fancy was to exude contempt for their station of living outside of the majestic Allerdale Hall, too ordinary, as in the public had seen the same outfit more than once, would invite further rumors and gossip spread about them and their fortunes.

Edith looked to Thomas, his face as confused as ever. He was a man! He did not need to spend more than a few minutes gathering together a good suit. It was not as though he had a great variety of garments to match together in the first place. Edith arranged her outfit then hugged his waist with one arm and pulled out his black and white suit from the wardrobe. "I remember first loving you in this one." She kissed his cheek. Edith herself wore her gold dress with black embroidered belt and styled her hair in a simple upstyle.

They walked hand in hand, happily avoiding any of their prying neighbors' eyes. For a moment, Edith felt like she and Thomas belonged in that village, existing together. Such moments were rare and she breathed in every minute of it. Then they turned the corner and heard the rushing feet of a child scurry away. Edith thought little of it, but Thomas's grip on her arm tightened and he inhaled deeply through the nose and exhaled through his thin lips so slowly Edith thought he was trying to blow the sails of a ship. "What's wrong?"

He cast a sideways glance at her. "They can say what they wish outside of the church. What happens on the inside is what will make the greatest difference."

"Do you think the Vicar will say something about us?"

Thomas fell silent. "It has been known to happen." He told her, "Most of the time not for the better."

AHAHAH

The stone church was a comfortable little place, despite the hard-wooden pews they were forced to sit upon. Sunlight sprayed through the stained-glass windows depicting biblical scenes and the smell of incense brought Edith such a sense of home that she closed her eyes and breathed it in, wondering where in the world did she experience such a feeling before. Hymn books were opened and all around them the words of praise and worship written on the old pages were uplifted in song to the accompaniment of an organ to the right of the church.

For a moment, Edith was struck by the soft tenor Thomas carried. It was subdued and careful, much like how he appeared in public, but had the great potential to be concert ready if given practice. She joined him in singing, her mood instantly lifting, giving her greater confidence in ignoring the whispers and the looks around them. They had nothing new to say, therefore there was no need to worry about them. Three hymns were sung, then the hymn books were closed and the parishioners assumed their seats. Edith could hear Thomas inhale and lift his chin as he sat, instantly making her mood fall slightly.

The Vicar, dressed in his usual garb of white robes, black scarf, and red hood that descended halfway down his back, assumed his pulpit high above the flock and gripped the sides of the wooden box. He inhaled, his piercing blue eyes sweeping over the young and balding heads, stopping when he saw Edith and Thomas. Immediately, Edith felt ice rush over her body like a bucket of slush.

"I had an interesting conversation yesterday with Lady Sharpe." Thomas's gloved hands balled into fists as all eyes flicked to them, "A conversation about forgiveness." Edith's heart skipped a beat.

"Let us dispense with the propriety for a moment, shall we? Do not think that because I am an ordained Vicar that I am immediately immune from public house discussions. Particularly those few who planned to mug and murder Sir Sharpe when he came home from Lord Castle's estate on several locations." Several men stirred, making Edith's heart pound as she looked to her husband. He sat stock still, eyes focused on the Vicar. He had heard the same rumor and had not told her. "I also know how Mrs. Stein gave Sir Sharpe a piece of rotting lamb when he asked for a good one." A matron sitting next to Mrs. Henson gave a proud nod. "Such an action caused him to walk nearly an hour out of his way to provide for his family, prompting Sir Sharpe to lose valuable work time. So, do us a favor and save your contempt Mrs. Stein."

"I do the Lord's work, Reverend!" Mrs. Stein huffed.

"Do you, now?" He looked to the grouping of men who had shifted uneasily. "And you, too? You do the Lord's work to plan to kill your fellow brother in Christ?"

They looked to each other, but none answered.

"My lesson today is simple: forgive. We cannot live amongst each other, doing what Jesus commanded us to do without forgiving each other. When the disciples asked Jesus how they were to pray to the Father, he told them. You may recite it with me if you'd like:

'Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be thy name.

Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done

On earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day, our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive

those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

But deliver us from evil,

For thine is the Kingdom, the power, and the Glory.

Amen.'"

The parishioners had recited it along with the Vicar, all but Thomas. He swallowed harshly, his hands still unrelenting of their fist. The Vicar continued:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, that prayer was not something to mumble over your afternoon luncheon. It is something to be lived. 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.' What that line means that if we are to be forgiven by Christ, then we must forgive others. Forgive the gossipers," He looked to Miss Henson. "Forgive the plotters," He looked to the men. "Forgive the blasphemers," He looked to Mrs. Stein who turned away, "And, forgive the murderers." Everyone looked to the Sharpes.

"But how do we find it in ourselves to forgive? How can we forgive these trespassers? Well, we must have love." There was a collected frown of confusion throughout the church. "When I spoke with Lady Sharpe, she told me that she had not forgiven her husband for what he had committed. She loved him, she understood his side of his atrocities, but she had not yet forgiven him." The Vicar took a moment to look around at the parishioners. "I do not think anyone has forgiven Sir Sharpe. Not even Sir Sharpe himself."

The creases on Thomas's face smoothed and his fists lessened, though they didn't completely open.

"Forgiveness is like a gift for a loved one. You take the time picking it out, a unique trifle given to only one person. You may even wrap it in fine paper and a silk ribbon. But, it is all for naught if it is not given away. You can wave it around," He lifted his hand and bounced around his pulpit like he was walking, "You can say look! I have forgiveness! Its right here, my forgiveness gift!" He dropped his hands and gripped the pulpit once more, "But it is meaningless unless you give it to whomever it is intended for." He turned to Thomas, looking directly at him. "Love, endures all things. I believe forgiveness to be one of those endurances. Sir Sharpe, I love you as a brother in Christ. You have done many horrible things, committed many atrocities. But I forgive you for them. I myself, Vicar Andrew Walters, forgive you. Not because you need my approval, no. But because Jesus commands me to forgive you as I would like to be forgiven. If there is no forgiveness for you, then there is no forgiveness for the rest of us. Believe me," He turned back to the parishioners, "If you think for a moment that the judgement we give each other is bad, just wait until we have to live for eternity with the Judgement the Father gives."

The parishioners stirred, several people nodding. Edith realized she had been holding her breath and inhaled.

"Forgive, ladies and gentlemen. Love one another, and forgive our faults. Please stand for closing prayers."

They stood, a tension exuding throughout the parishioners, sideways glances darting to the Sharpes, Mrs. Stein, and the group of men. Closing prayers were made, along with announcements of caregiving for a woman who had fallen ill and reminders of the church's annual garden ball. Finally, the Vicar stepped down from his pulpit and led the parishioners out of their pews to the outside under the serenade of "Amazing Grace."

Edith had barely picked up her pamphlet of the monthly church activities when she felt a vice grip her arm yank her out of the pew and into the throng of parishioners. Thomas blew past everyone, even shouldering the Vicar in the churchyard, making everyone stare at him, Edith in tow.

"Thomas, you're hurting me!" Edith protested when they were a safe distance from the church.

He let go of her arm, but he did not relent his pace. Edith picked up her skirts and scurried after him, nearly being hit by the garden gate when they made it back to their house. Thomas waited for her, holding the door open for her to pass through before slamming it shut so hard that the windows rattled.

"Thomas?" Edith pleaded, "What's wrong? What did I do?"

He seethed, possibly deciding if he should strike her or if he should murder someone. Finally, he turned to her, eyes blazing, gaze like hell was staring back at her. "Forgive?"

"Thomas, I didn't know that he was going to speak about us. I promise you, darling."

"Forgive… her?"

Edith's lips smacked shut. Who is he talking about, She thought.

"Forgive… HER?" He threw his gloves across the room to the parlor. Edith backed away, her back touching their coats, eyes wide. He kicked the rug so that it skidded a short distance away from him. Edith fingers touched a plate she had gotten back from Miss Henson, one that she hadn't liked enough to put away immediately.

She picked it up and held it out to him. "Throw it. It might help."

He hurtled it as hard as he could, causing it to shatter with a loud scream, "Forgive her?!"

Suddenly, it dawned on Edith. Lucille. The Vicar was asking him to forgive Lucille. Forgive her manipulation, her ambition, and most of all, her making him desire her far beyond what was natural for siblings.

Thomas stalked into the parlor, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and crouching down with the weight of such an order. "Forgive," He seethed, repeating the word over and over again.

Edith slipped into the kitchen, careful with the swinging door. She breathed slowly, taking her time to regain her composure. Then, with shaking fingers, she took her apron and tied it around her waist to begin their Sunday roast. There was nothing she could do for him, now. Nothing she could say to make him feel better. This was his battle, and all she could do was pray that he was well equipped.

AHAHAH

Thomas was quiet the rest of the day. He did not insist on a daily walk and Edith did not push him. Alan did not dare to come over, though Edith saw him outside the garden gate when she was setting the table for supper. She waved to him, giving him a nod when he mouthed if she was alright. She could tell he wanted to stay to make sure she was going to be fine for the rest of the night, remembering when he had come to rescue her from Allerdale Hall in a blizzard. But, she closed the curtain and continued with her housework.

When the time came to undress for bed, Thomas touched the small of her back, prompting her to turn. He was still livid, but his temper had faded enough so that she was not frightened to be near him. "You, don't forgive me?" He whispered. "For what I did to you?"

Edith slipped her hands into his. "It is difficult, Thomas. The most difficult thing I have ever done. You, wanted to kill me. You said you loved me in the most beautiful manner that I had ever heard. Yet, you wanted me dead."

"No," He nearly moaned, "I never wanted you dead. I wanted you as my wife, my true wife." His face softened and he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them. "I. Forgive. You."

Edith leaned away, "Forgive me? For what?"

"For not leaving when you had the chance. For loving me, despite the ghosts that had warned you. You could have commanded the carriage be made ready for your departure to London. You were lady of the house, there was so much that you could have done that Lucille could not balk at and still maintain her ruse. I forgive you, for all of it."

Edith stared into his shirt. Yes, now that she thought of it, she could have ordered rides into the village. She could have gone to Carlisle and taken the train to London when she first saw the ghosts. She could have left Thomas. If she had not loved him, that was.

He touched her face, bringing her eyes back to him. He longed for her, she could recognize that look from anywhere. But tonight, he seemed to only study her. Edith touched his chest, opening his shirt to reveal his pectoral muscles, giving him permission to do more than study. Slowly, they kissed, either of them realizing that this was likely going to be the last time they would ever touch. Edith caressed each soft hollow with a slow and steady hand, feeling the grace and strength of each curving muscle, kissing him where his breath sputtered and demanded more, heavy inhales. He returned the favor, memorizing the smooth and solid lines down her back and her front, kissing and savoring first where their child would occupy and savor later. When he couldn't wait any longer, Thomas carried her to bed and moved against her, holding back nothing, regretting nothing. Their despair yielded to passion, their longing giving way to fulfillment. The echo of their cries rang out for a moment before dying in the flesh of the couple, Edith's in his temple, Thomas's in the nape of her neck.

Edith wrapped her arms around Thomas, kissing him over and over again while he did likewise. Suddenly, he stopped kissing and smiled, "Edith, listen!"

She panted, straining her ears to hear. Outside their bedroom window came the soft _tap! tap!_ of rain. She began to smile, when she looked to the nape of his neck and saw a small tremor of his heart pounding… in perfect sync to hers. It was a waltz, his heart and hers beating together to the music of rain. She smiled, almost laughing.

He kissed her once more before collapsing on his side, his hand rubbing her pouting stomach. He closed his eyes, feeling her. "Let me sleep like this," He whispered into her forehead. "Let me feel you and the baby like this. Let me dream."

Edith nuzzled into the tenderness of his muscled shoulders, smelling the saltiness of his body, stroking his neck whilst he stroked her belly. "Thank God for dreams."

Thomas exhaled once. "Amen."

AHAHAH

They came for him while he was eating breakfast. Edith froze, spoon halfway in her mouth. Thomas's eyes flicked to her, the same knowing eyes that he used to cast to Lucille. Slowly, he took a sip of his tea and stood, Edith following suit. Gently, he kissed her one last time, a delicate, patient kiss, then stepped back.

"How do I look?" He asked, his face calm, his shoulders back.

Edith scanned him, ignoring the second knock on the door. His suit was pristine, though worn. His boots were polished, though needing replacing within the next year. His hair was oiled back, his curls tamed though threatening a revolt later. She inhaled, her love for this man threatening to suffocate her.

"You look ready."

He smiled, a warm, defeated, smile. Then he turned and gathered his top hat, hearing her footsteps behind him. The door knocked for a third time and Thomas called out to it before looking back to his wife once more, tears rimming his eyes. "I love you, Edith Sharpe."

Edith swallowed her breakdown, forcing her knees to keep from cracking. "As I love you, Sir Thomas Sharpe."

He turned back to the door and opened it, revealing the Sheriff, Mr. Mason, and two of the deputies that had gone with them to Allerdale Hall. The Sheriff presented a warrant for Thomas's arrest which was promptly signed by the arrestee, then withdrew a set of handcuffs to envelop the Baronet's delicate wrists.

Edith's breathing sputtered at the sight of the handcuffs, her tears overflowing at the sound of the iron clinking together. Thomas hatted his crown, then donated his noble flesh out in front of him, dotted with blisters from hard engineering work, his resolve unshattering as the metal clamped down on him. Before they let his arms fall to his stomach, Mr. Mason slid a coat over the handcuff chain to spare Thomas some of the shame of marching through the village of Redsett in police custody.

Thomas stepped forward willingly, following the police officials like a trained dog without a lead. Edith followed behind them a short distance, hoping, praying, that they would take him to Carlisle tomorrow so that she might take him some supper tonight in the jail. All around them, the life of the village stopped to stare at the moment they had all been waiting for. Women pushing prams stood mid-walk, hands still on the push bars, children playing in the streets holding balls in their small hands, and men walking or working stopped to watch with various instruments in hand: a glass of beer, a broom, one even with a recently shot duck dangling in midair. No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe.

They neared the sheriff's office, the sight of two men clearly visible: the Vicar and Doctor Alan McMichael. The Vicar stood the closest to the doorway of the office, while Alan sat on the bench outside of the office, standing the moment he saw the party appear. Edith did not care who was near the office so long as she could find out just how long it would be before her husband was sent to trial in Carlisle.

The Sheriff nodded to Alan who nodded back, coming forward toward the party. Thomas's head, once parallel to the dirt floor, turned to Alan as he neared. "She's all yours," He told him.

Alan flinched Thomas's direction, but continued past him to halt Edith in her tracks. "The Sheriff asked me to escort you back to your house."

"I need to find out when they are taking him to Carlisle." Edith cried, holding out her arms to push him away.

"Please, Edith! You must go back." He put his hands on her shoulders, but she would not be dissuaded.

"No, I have to find out when they're taking him!"

Alan gripped her shoulders and pulled her close, forcing her feet to dangle inches above the cobblestone ground, his breath coming hot in her ear. "He's to be taken immediately to Carlisle and there are several dozen bets to see if the American woman will disgrace her husband by acting out in public. Please, let us go!"

Edith faced him, her heart pounding. Over his shoulder, she saw Thomas and the police party bypass the office in favor of heading around the back to the horses and paddy wagon, the Vicar joining them in an attempt to calm Thomas. He whirled back to Edith, feet slipping and gliding over the uneven cobblestone, causing the Sheriff and deputies to clamp down on his arms and back. His eyes were stricken with worry, his lips quivering. In that moment, Edith thought she saw a boy, a little boy being dragged toward a monster.

And she could do nothing for him. Thomas faced forward, enough of his dignity returning to continue the walk to the paddy wagon. But, Edith needed more coaxing from Alan. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kneed her backwards in a reluctant waltz, Edith clamping onto him for balance. Thomas turned the corner and the police party faded from view, allowing Edith to adhere to Alan's wishes.

They walked on, but Edith saw nothing. Her husband, her beloved knight, was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Part III

Chapter Eleven

Carlisle City, Cumberland

Two Days Later

The rain on the high arching windows pounded against the glass of the courthouse. Edith's stockings were soaked to the bone and her dress clung to her legs almost like a corset, but she pushed all thoughts of caring for these things aside in favor of waiting for Thomas to arrive. She had sat on the hard-wooden chairs of the courtroom decorated almost like a church for three hours, her hand crushing Alan's, desperate for any sight of her husband. The lawyer she had hired for him had told them after lunch his preliminary trial would begin. Lunch had come and gone, and still they had not seen anything.

After Thomas had been taken into the paddy wagon, Edith went home and, in an absolute flurry, packed everything they had including everything that they acquired since moving into their small cottage. Portraits they had taken together were wrapped in cotton handkerchiefs, the contents of their writing desk, and every article of clothing they both possessed were packed. Alan had helped, arranging for the Sharpe's horse and carriage to be brought forth from the horse rental barn and set in front of the cottage so that the luggage could be tied to it. Miss Henson did her best to not cry as she brought Alan his suitcase and optical case, making him promise that he would see her before he left England. When all had been packed, Edith surrendered both home that she and Thomas had made together, and keys to the landlord and jumped into the carriage.

"Where to, Lady Sharpe?" Alan had asked, a slight smile in his eyes as though they were going on some great adventure.

"Carlisle." She had commanded. "Don't stop until we get there."

"Yes, ma'am." He had answered, flicking the reins.

When they arrived at the city, the rain had begun to pour, prompting Alan to stop the carriage and usher Edith into the cab where he drew the hood and secured it, cursing at how the bolts were almost rusted through. Though he had his top hat, Alan had shivered in the cold rain trying to make it to a hotel. He had passed two, declaring that they were not nearly good enough for her to be seen in. Finally, he had settled on an establishment, one with gas torches in front, and butlers with umbrellas waiting in the foyer for anyone to arrive. They had rushed out to rescue Alan from a wet and miserable death, and had helped Edith from her seat, immediately making them tea and warming their shoes before the fire.

Alan had ordered two rooms while they dried in the parlor, smiling at Edith as she poured them each a cup of tea and waited for him to join her. "Home sweet hotel." He had grinned as he handed her her key.

Edith had looked around the parlor, at the gas chandelier with cut mirror adornments in the shape of diamonds reflecting the blue Persian rug at the center of the room, the fine blue and white couches and chairs that they occupied, then had turned to Alan. "Why here, Alan? Why not something… more amenable?"

He had set his cup and saucer down and looked around. "If I recall correctly, this is demure compared to what your father would have set foot in."

"My funds are limited."

He had looked at her. "Do you know how much capital you have? Exact figures?"

She had shaken her head. "No. I never knew for certain. I did not send the papers for the transfer of funds to Mr. Ferguson. I signed them, Lucille made me sign them, but they were never sent. I'm not even certain of where they are. I did ask for some money when we were living in the hotel, but I'm not entirely certain of how much I'm worth."

"You're an heiress," He had told her, "You haven't entirely reached into your inherited funds because of the marital transfer. Mr. Ferguson, our lawyer, sent you off with five thousand dollars, a generous amount of money, in case you and Thomas desired to spend your honeymoon in a more desirable location than Cumberland. Your fortune is essentially untouched, but your marital funds are likely nearly spent."

Edith had taken a sip of her tea, the golden liquid warming her to her core. "How much am I worth?"

"Well, to the right person, you're priceless. But, to the rest of the world, you have a little over five hundred thousand dollars, with an annual allowance of two thousand dollars a year."

Edith had felt a bolt of lightning surge through her marrow. "Mr. Ferguson told you this?"

Alan had nodded. "Well, he left your file on the corner of his desk and told me he had a sudden urge to shave, then left me alone for a half hour before coming back completely unshaven."

Edith had shaken her head and sipped her tea. "Did he tell you who would make a good defense attorney? If I ever needed one?"

Alan had smiled. "We'll meet him for breakfast. He's agreed to defend Thomas."

Edith had almost started crying. "Why are you doing this for me, Alan? Thomas is your enemy. You hate him. Why are you helping me?"

He had reached into his jacket, and pulled a dampened letter from the inside pocket. "Because Thomas wrote me." He had surrendered the letter. "In it, he asks me to take care of you like you were my wife. He even gave me his blessing to ask you to marry me if he was executed. So, if you were my very own Mrs. McMichael, I wouldn't hesitate to give you anything that would make you happy. You're happy with him. I can see it. If he makes you happy, well then, Mrs. Pirate, I'll help you in every way that I can. Now if you don't mind," He had picked up a chocolate biscuit and bit into it, "I'm freezing, and hungry."

They had met with a Mr. Copper who had not made any promises about Thomas's trial. He had warned Edith, privately, that the Sharpe name was synonymous with a funerary bell in that when it rang, certain heads came up. Mr. Copper did not name names, only keeping his warning short. Mr. Copper had met with Thomas in the jail. What was said between them, he would not tell Edith, but from the look on his face, she could not recover a single good feeling.

At the courthouse, the doors to the jail section opened and Edith's eyes shot up in time to see Thomas escorted in. On his wrists were handcuffs attached to a chain that dropped down his middle to the floor where it fastened to shackles gripped to his ankles. He wore only thin slippers and a muslin jumpsuit of black and white, his hair curled about his face and his chin was dusted with stubble hair. Edith jumped up the moment she saw him, Alan doing nothing to stop her as he too sat in shock over the appearance of this noble Baronet.

Mr. Copper pounced. "Your honor, I believe that I am confused. My client's name is Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet. Who is this poor creature brought before us?"

The judge, a portly middle aged man, looked down from his bench. "What's your name?"

Thomas looked at him. "Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet."

Mr. Copper stood. "Your honor, I object the treatment of my client! He is a Baronet, a noble worthy of at least a razor and a comb, not to mention that his attire for a trial is completely substandard."

"Your client is on trial for murder, Mr. Copper." The Prosecution Attorney interjected.

"Would you be expected to be treated in such a way if you were on trial for libel?"

"I am not on trial for libel-"

"I'll find a way to put you on trial for libel if you suggest that my client should be treated below his rank!"

Thomas suppressed a laugh as the judge hammered his gavel. "Gentlemen! The court takes note of Sir Sharpe's appearance and demands that he be better kept as is in accordance to his rank. He shall appear before the court clean shaven, hair kept, and clothes other than the given prisoner's attire be worn. Is this acceptable with the jailer?" He turned to a taller man in a police uniform on his left who nodded. "Then let it be applied tomorrow when we meet again for sentencing."

"I highly advise sentencing continue, your honor." The Prosecution Attorney protested.

"Not in the shape that Sir Sharpe is in, Mr. Howe. Sentencing will begin first thing tomorrow morning." _Crack!_

Thomas shot a look to Edith and Mr. Copper, a slight grin on his lips.

AHAHAH

Alan escorted Edith to supper, arm in arm. She was occupied with her thoughts, hardly seeing the beautiful granite and gas city around them awash with the tobacco golden sunset. The horse drawn carriages echoed over the cobblestone streets, reminding him of Buffalo. The ladies swished in their silks and satin, a group passing them as they made their way to a theatre. Then there was Edith in her brown dress with high puffed sleeves, the same one she wore on the last day she belonged to Alan, the day before meeting Sir Thomas Sharpe when she was hoping to publish her manuscript.

At last, Edith lifted her head, her trance broken. "Where are we going, Alan?"

He grinned, "Supper."

She frowned. "Alan, where are we going?"

He gestured to a restaurant that he had been directed to by the hotel concierge. It was a bright place, hardly filled, with decent crystal and white linen. On the parchment menus, a red cross was painted on a white background, black lettering on the arms spelling out the restaurant name "The Red Crossing."

"We're meeting someone." Alan told her, opening the door for Edith. "We're meeting the man who gave me and your father the information about the Sharpes. His name is Mr. Holly."

"Is he from America?"

Alan removed his hat. "Yes, he is."

She looked at him. "Did you write to bring him here?"

He grinned and nodded, "When Thomas wrote me his blessing to take care of you. Remember? I am to treat you as I would my wife. My wife deserves the best to make her happy." He introduced them to the host who promptly led them to a table near the center of the restaurant where a balding man in a fine auburn suit sat, sipping a glass of port. He stood the moment he saw Alan and gave a slight nod to Edith, "Lady Sharpe, Dr. McMichael."

Alan held out his hand for a shake, "Mr. Holly."

Mr. Holly shook hands. "It's been a long time, doctor."

"Not long enough for your services." He turned to Edith, "Mr. Holly is an, investigator, of sorts. He looks into certain persons of interest for unsavory or unedifying facts."

Edith felt a chill slither down her spine. "How do you do?"

"Please, join me." Mr. Holly gestured to the table set for three. "There is much to go over."

Edith shot Alan a look as he pulled out her chair for her. "What have we to discuss?"

"I tracked down the convent where Lady Lucille was…" He mulled over the right word, "Educated." He handed Alan a business envelope. "Don't open it at the table." He watched a waiter escort a couple to a table a short distance away.

"Could you tell me?" Edith asked, dropping her voice.

Mr. Holly gave a slight nod. "She was sent away to a convent in the Swiss Alps. It is a place where wealthy families with… disturbed, daughters are sent to be kept out of the family's white satin reputation and taught feminine lessons such as dancing, music, and French. Even embroidery for the ones not on suicide or murder watch."

Edith leaned back, eyes wide. "Such places exist?"

"It's privacy or Bedlam, Lady Sharpe. If you can afford the privacy, then it is priceless. Apparently, Lucille gave enough of a good performance to be permitted correspondence with her brother and even the occasional visit from him and several other suitors."

Alan and Edith looked to each other. "Suitors?" He asked, tucking away the envelope in his suit jacket.

"Men from good families across Europe. All were turned away under the assumption that there was a another suitor that the nuns and tutors would not disclose." He paused while their waiter brought a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass.

Alan took his glass when the waiter departed. "Does anyone know about these facts?"

"I do not think so, Doctor. It would be a difficult find, if anyone was to go looking. I saw to that, personally."

They did not ask what he meant by that. "Now for the reason I came out here." Mr. Holly withdrew from a leather satchel a document envelope and slid it to Edith. "Your husband is in for quite the fight, Miss Edith. There are a minimum of five, very prominent men putting pressure on Judge Mayhew, and your lawyer Mr. Copper. You can bet that the Prosecution Attorney will pull out every underhanded trick in the book because he now has a library of naughty secrets. Expect publications in the newspaper to try and sway a jury, perhaps even pamphlets and leaflets from unknown sponsors."

Alan leaned forward and nearly whispered, "Thomas plans on pleading guilty and accepting a plea bargain."

"There will be no plea bargains, doctor." Mr. Holly told him, waving away the waiter. "The only way for you to combat the army of enemies the Sharpes have made over the years is a public trial where Thomas is not the one being prosecuted, but the ones trying to put him away."

Edith sipped her wine. "How do we do that, Mr. Holly?"

"Stem the flow of the river, Miss Edith. Make a friend among your enemies." He leaned forward. "I saw the machine," He whispered. "You need a mechanic and Mr. Finlay has been discouraged from returning to Allerdale Hall. If you can prove it to be made of gold, then determined hate might just take a… holiday." He leaned back into his chair. "Now, I hear the sea bass is extraordinary here."

"How much will it take for your support in this matter?" Edith asked, staring holes into Mr. Holly's forehead.

Mr. Holly suppressed his grin. "Well, Miss Edith. That entirely depends on you."

"Don't play games, Holly." Alan growled. "Now answer her question."

Mr. Holly nodded. "I can do a number of things, Miss Edith. The extent of what you would like me to do, will be costly. But, you are sitting on a goldmine, aren't you?"

"A clay mine, to be precise." Edith sneered. "I want Thomas's name out of pamphlets and leaflets. The newspaper will be our best ally. They will report what the trial says and the people here know if the newspaper is biased or not, if they don't then they will know. If it is a public trial, then the truth will get out despite the media. Is that understood, Mr. Holly?"

He nodded. "Clearly, Miss Edith."

"Now then, you have a pad of paper in your satchel, let's negotiate a price."

AHAHAH

Edith sat at the desk in her room and thumbed through the profile pages again. Mr. Eagerton, owner of a steel works factory. Mr. Vale, heir to a railroad fortune. Mr. Irwin, a shipping manufacturer. Mr. Lushton, a meat distributer. All prominent men, all connected in some way to the Sharpe clay mines.

"So," Alan sighed, handing Edith a glass of milk, "Who are all these men?"

"Mr. Eagerton worked the mining carts in the Sharpe mines, his brother was one of the children killed. When he was laid off from the mines, he learned to read, gained an apprenticeship from a local steel works factory and eventually purchased it.

"Mr. Vale's father was an investor with the Sharpes, transporting the bricks out of Cumberland. He nearly lost his fortune when Sir James, Thomas's father, died."

"Sir James died and Mr. Vale's father nearly lost all of his money. He should be easy to turn to our side."

"Mr. Vale's father killed himself the day the stocks turned and nearly tripled the family fortune, apparently."

"I need something stronger than milk."

"Mr. Irwin, he doesn't have as strong a connection as the rest. His father was a miner who survived the layoff with all of his limbs intact."

"How about that of his close friends and other family working in the mines?"

Edith scanned the page. "A nephew had his leg amputated as a result of the mining accident. He was about fifteen years old."

"God! No wonder the village was going to have little to do with the two of you!"

"Were they? I didn't entirely hear the gossip."

"Aside from the fact that Thomas is a murderer and you willing to be seen with him and sleep with him, there were mentions of family members still licking their wounds from Thomas Michael." He sipped his milk. "What about the last one, Mr…?"

"Lushton. He owns a meat processing plant. His mother had a partnership with Thomas's father to use the unused land on Allerdale Hall property to raise sheep with a generous portion of the meat going to the house and the workers. Mr. Lushton used to play with Thomas as a boy until his working-class rank became a problem. Mr. Holly notes that Mr. Lushton's involvement is hardly there and suggests that Mr. Lushton's feelings toward Thomas as an old playmate are conflicted."

"Then that means one of the other three men is a bullying ringleader."

"Yes, but which one?" She drained her milk glass then attacked the folder. "Which one has the most to gain by Thomas's death?"

"None but emotional gain, darling. These men have all the money they need, they just want to watch him squirm."

"There has to be something. Some, motivation to keep them going for nearly twenty years." She paused, her heart seeming to mimic the action. Slowly, she turned to Alan, setting the folder down on the desk. "What did you say?"

Alan paused, trying to register her request. "About the men? I said that they have all the money that they need, they just wanted to watch Thomas squirm."

"No, what you called me, just now. What did you call me?"

Alan looked at her, his face softening as he seemed to study her face. "Darling."

Edith's heart slammed back into motion, her thoughts obliterating and reforming into the image of her husband. "It's late, Alan." She closed the folder and stood. "We should stop for now."

"Do you ever think about our kiss?"

"What?"

"Our kiss in the garden shed, the only moment when we knew we loved each other. Do you think about it at all?"

Edith shook her head and spoke softly, "Alan, we've known that we loved each other for so long now. I realized you loved me when you would play dolls with me when the other boys and girls were not around us, and I realized just how much I loved you when you walked into Allerdale Hall half frozen but still willing to rescue me. Just because we kissed, does not mean we haven't felt love."

"I want to feel it again," He breathed, standing. "Your lips against mine."

Edith inhaled, her corset forcing her to stand upright when she might have leaned forward. "Do you know what I did after kissing you, Alan?" She asked, removing her reading glasses. "When I went home, I cried. I cried because my heart felt like it was ripping apart into a thousand pieces. I love my husband, I wouldn't have married him if I didn't or done all of this if my love for him had not grown. But, I love you, too. Yes, I've said it. I love you, Alan. You are more than the friend I grew up with, you are… my temptation. To answer your question, no, I haven't thought about our kiss because it is my intention to keep myself from thinking about it. I am married and, despite everything, my husband has taken care of me. Now it is time I returned the favor."

Alan swallowed, his back straightening ever so slightly. "Forgive me, Edith. For putting you in such an imposition." She could almost hear his heart shatter, but she could do nothing that could help him. "I will fetch you in the morning to go to court." With that, he opened the door and walked out.

AHAHAH

Faithfully, Alan arrived to collect her. He bade her good morning, escorted her to the courthouse and found her a good seat where she might see Thomas arrive and depart. Edith gratefully accepted is generosity, doing her upmost to keep to herself the reason behind the dark circles under her eyes.

She had dreamt of Alan and of Thomas last night. She had dreamt of ascending the warm golden brown staircase of office buildings in Buffalo to Alan's maiden practice. He was waiting for her, his hair spun from pure gold, his eyes windows to the sky, and his arms as firm as hickory trees. Alan kissed her and though she dreamed, Edith could feel her heart pounding and the butterflies within her stomach soaring. She had awoken in a pant, yearning for Alan's lips to continue kissing her, but Edith had pulled the pillow over her head and forced herself back to sleep.

Then came her dream of Thomas. He wore his mourning suit of sheer black silk, but a leather overcoat swept the floor. He stood, master of Allerdale Hall, on the staircase of his crown jewel, the house perfectly refurbished but modeled after a gothic chapel. Where once there was claret colored clay, now stood cold, grey stone. Where there was splintered, and painted flooring was now tiled squares that didn't move when stepped upon, had no life within them at all. Thomas stretched out his hand, the only white thing in the darkened dream and pulled her onto the landing, kissing her with the passion he had bestowed upon her when making love.

Edith stood next to Alan fighting the beauty of these two dreams. She loved them both and had she the capability, she would have married both of them. But, she reminded herself, I am married to one and not the other. The Bailiff commanded them to rise while the same judge from the day before, Judge Mayhew, sauntered in, a coffee stain on his wig. "Oh, no." Edith whispered, focusing on the stain and the scorn the judge wore. Alan saw it, too. As they sat, he took Edith's hand, the both of them remembering her father when he would make the mistake of mussing his primed appearance by something so simple as coffee or a nick with the shaving blade. The poor souls that had to meet with Carter Cushing on such days might have been written from Dante's Inferno once he had picked their bones clean.

Judge Mayhew grunted his consent for the first case to be brought in. Edith held her breath as Thomas was announced and brought in. Edith had delivered to the jail his black and white suit and they had taken it with cold, unfeeling eyes. He wore it now, a handsome figure in handcuffs with hair slicked back and jaw like polished ivory. The sight of his clean and handsome appearance seemed to provoke the judge, particularly the smile he gave to Edith. "Are you not aware that you are on trial for murder, Sir Sharpe?" Judge Mayhew snarled, grabbing his gavel.

Thomas's smile faded gradually. "Forgive me, your honor. I cannot look upon my wife without smiling. I never have. She is the only reason I've smiled since my sins have come to light."

Judge Mayhew scoffed. "Read the charges!"

The Prosecution Attorney stood as Thomas sat and shouted out the charges. Murder, conspiracy to commit murder, fraud, and gross moral indecency: incest. Thomas took them like a cobblestone road took a mule pulling a cart over it, tired and worn. "How does the defense plead?"

Thomas looked to Mr. Copper who nodded. Edith sat up along with several others as Thomas stood, alone. Before he turned to the judge, he stopped to look at his wife. They were meters apart, but their minds were in tune like a vacuum. He studied her face from his position, taking in her hair, her worried eyes, her dress. She was begging him to be her hero, they both knew it. He turned his face to the judge and inhaled.

"Not guilty, your honor."

Mr. Copper jolted, the Prosecution Attorney doing likewise. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

Thomas turned to the Prosecution Attorney and repeated, "Not guilty."

Judge Mayhew cleared his throat, commanding their attentions. "Let the record state that the Defendant has issued a plea of 'not guilty.'"

"What just happened?" Alan hissed, his breath uncomfortable against Edith's ear.

"He's fighting back." Edith breathed, a smile spreading across her features. "He's taking a stand."

Judge Mayhew looked from attorney to attorney, frowning. "When is the next available date for trail?"

A clerk with a legal style wig piped up from under a long leather bound book. "Three weeks from today, Your Honor."

"Trial for the Crown vs. Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet will begin in three weeks." _Clack!_

Edith rushed from her seat to the barrier separating the audience from the court. "Thomas!" She called, "Mr. Copper!" She gripped the oak barrier as the jailers came for Thomas. "What does this mean? What's going to happen?"

"I am not claiming responsibility for all of those atrocities, Edith." Thomas smiled, "Just the ones I committed. You'll find that cup of tea significantly less bitter than the one I was told to give to you."

With that, Thomas stepped back and allowed himself to be shackled and led away. "Well, Lady Sharpe." Mr. Copper sighed, mopping his forehead with a white handkerchief. "It appears that we have some work to do."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Edith read the newspaper while a maid delivered her a fresh pot of tea. From across the parlor, Alan nodded to her, standing to engage the two other patrons in the room. Edith swallowed, then turned to the maid. "Crime of the decade, the newspaper says." She showed her the front page of Thomas's trail, a court drawing of Judge Mayhew, Thomas, and Mr. Copper with his arm raised in objection. "Is that true?"

The Maid glanced at the front page and scoffed. "Tha's th Cumberland Times for you, Miss. 'Ole Parker's got it in for the Moore's."

"Who has it in for who?"

The Maid set down the teapot and stepped closer to Edith. "Frederick Parker's the editor for the Times. 'E don't like Daniel Moore since 'e refused to invest in the building the Times wanted to buy five year ago. So now, Parker's found feed for th 'ens."

Edith nodded. "Does the rest of Cumberland know of Mr. Parker's agenda?"

The Maid shrugged. "All's I can speak for is Carlisle, Miss. Never been out o' town. We all know Parker's 'ungry for that old mill. All but took off th' banker's 'ead off when he couldn't buy it."

Edith nodded even slower. "Is Mr. Parker at the current office? The one off of Clifton Road I believe it was?"

The Maid suppressed a laugh. "Nah, Miss. 'E's likely at the mill off Sheridan Road prayin' th' Good Lord will let 'im 'ave it one day."

Edith smiled with her and took her cup of tea. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Miss." She walked away.

Edith slid out the pad of paper she hid under the newspaper and wrote every good point she could use, including every possible link she could make to help Thomas.

Alan slid into the chair next to her. "Alright Sherlock, what are you deducing?"

"I need to go to Allerdale Hall."

"Out of the question."

"Don't start with me, Alan."

"Why do you need to go back there?"

Edith slid him her notes. "I can convince Mr. Parker that I can invest in the mill he wants to buy with the proceeds of the harvesting machine in return for a full feature on it along with the Cumberland Times's full support and enthusiasm. But, before I go to Allerdale Hall, I will need to talk to" She looked at her notes, "Misters Eagerton, Vale, Irving, and Lushton. Get them to see that the Sharpe mines will reopen under new management, new regulations, and will be needing new investors."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Thank you."

"If you weren't out of your mind."

Edith shot him a look. "What?"

"What is your name, Edith? Your full name including title."

She turned to him. Was he serious? "Lady Edith Marie Cushing Sharpe."

"Exactly, do you think that any of those men would be willing to sit with a female businesswoman, let alone a Sharpe?"

"Mr. Lushton's mother was a businesswoman!"

"Mrs. Lushton was not a Sharpe. You need to be more tactful, Edith."

Edith recoiled, the feeling of defeat sweeping over her. Alan continued, "Let Mr. Holly do his job. Let him arrange the meeting with these men when he has something that we can use against them."

"Alright, then. We will need an engineer to make the necessary repairs to the harvesting machine. Will you allow me to do that?"

"We can go as soon as you finish your tea."

AHAHAH

Their engineer was named Mr. Applebee, a former clockmaker and cotton gin and weaving maintenance man who seemed to be the cheeriest person Edith had ever seen in England since Mr. Finlay. A rather beefy man with red cheeks and green eyes, Edith had some trouble picturing him going beneath the massive cotton weaving machines to make the necessary repairs. At first, he looked like a big blue ornament in his American overalls, but became Santa Claus incarnate when he said, "I'll do anything for the Sharpes. Your Thomas found me this job after I's dismissed from Allerdale Hall when he returned from school in Switzerland. Lady Lucille weren't the nicest of employers. Blamed me for exploding one of the wa'er heaters. I warned her of mixing peat pellets and coal. Develops an air pocket, you see. Frigh'ened her to color!" He threw his mousy head back and laughed richly, inspiring Edith to laugh as well.

"Lady Lucille sent me off without pay, without even me hat." He continued, still guffawing as he fixed a machine for a ship, waving his tools about while Edith sat and watched. "Sir Thomas tracked me down, gave me m'last wages, and returned my hat. He gave me a letter of recommendation on official stationary, and pointed me 'ere." He looked around his warm, semi-clean shop. "Said he apprenticed here during his holidays and said the owner was good. Certainly was, too! God rest 'is soul!"

Edith's smile faded slightly. "Mr. Applebee, I must warn you. There is a faction that does not share our sentiments toward Thomas."

"Oh, the EVIL lot?"

"The who, I'm sorry?"

"Eagerton, Vale, Irwin, and Lushton. You take the first letter from their surnames and you make an acronym. E-V-I-L: the EVIL lot."

Edith burst out laughing, doubling over at such irony over her husband's tormentors. "Ye-yes! That would be the faction." She straightened, still chuckling.

"Oh, yeah. They've been by. Said they'd buy the place from under me if I helped Thomas. Joke's on them, I bought the business from my employer the week before he died! Left his widow in a good state of things. Nah, they can drive me business away, but it'd give me more time with me grandkids. They can burn the place down, I've got insurance. Can retire nicely, stop staining the wife's white linen, she'll like that." He showed her his big, black palms for a moment before returning to his work. "It sure will be nice to see what Allerdale's become. Good or bad, I'll be happy to see it again."

"Yes, as will I, Mr. Applebee."

Edith looked out the shop door to see if Alan was still out making inquiries with members of the Cumberland Times before turning to Mr. Applebee. "When will you willing to travel to Redsett, Mr. Applebee?"

He mulled over the request for a moment before answering, "I can go t'morrow, Lady Sharpe. I can finish this today," He tapped the metal machine with his screwdriver, making a reverberating ding, "Deliver it in the evening. Yes, t'morrow at first light, I can set off to Allerdale Hall. I suspect you'll be wanting to get back as soon as you can to see your Thomas's day in court. Nah, not a problem, indeed!"

Edith hesitated. "Thomas left me the blueprints of the machine and, naturally, I'm reluctant to let them leave my sight."

"Of course! Of course, Lady Sharpe! Those blueprints is good money! I know Thomas, and he had many good visions for the future. 'E would make something that would yield magnificently."

"I could perhaps go with you to Allerdale Hall to ensure the quality of your work as well as the security of Thomas's invention if you have no objection?"

"Of course, Lady Sharpe! I can collect you from your hotel at seven, if you'd like."

"I would like that very much, Mr. Applebee. I'm staying at the George Hotel."

"Oh, yes. Lady like you wouldn't think to stay at a public 'ouse, now would she?"

AHAHAH

The old mill that Mr. Parker yearned to buy to rehouse the current Cumberland Times was in better shape than Allerdale Hall, Edith noted grimly when she and Alan looked over the place. The grass had come in, trimmed by two sheep that grazed peacefully along the walkway, occasionally bleating their contentment. Along the rock walls, daffodil shoots protruded from the earth with the promise of beauty against the caved in roof, the burned stone, and the charred beams.

Alan took one look along the pathway then turned to Edith. "Can you make it up?"

"For Pete's sake, Alan. Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I've lost the ability to walk." She charged forward, stepping around missing cobblestones and careful to tread over the ones that had come away from their mortar.

Alan caught up to her, catching her on one occasion when she stepped on one particular cobblestone and nearly fell forward. "How much would it cost to relay this whole thing?" She scoffed, circling her foot to alleviate some of the pain.

"Relaying cobblestone can be expensive. Fixing what cobbles have come away from the mortar and shaving down some of the rock so that it's easier to walk on can be cheaper."

Edith nodded, then raised her hand to ring the bell hanging above the charred doorframe. The inside of the mill was overgrown, and a family of foxes was staring at them, their meal of dogfood in a pewter bowl abandoned to curiosity. There was a definitive walkway to another room, leaving Edith to wonder if Mr. Parker was intending this first room to be a welcoming office.

Mr. Parker himself arrived only a minute after Edith rang the bell, his fingers covered with ink, a smudge on his nose. "Yes, can I help you?"

"I'm Dr. Alan McMichael, I spoke with your assistant." Alan stepped around Edith, making the fox family flinch backwards. "This is my friend, Lady Edith Sharpe."

Edith gave a slight nod of her head. "How do you do?"

"Just fine, Lady Sharpe. Will you excuse me for just a moment?" He disappeared into the back room, before popping out again. "Please, come in. I've chairs here in the back."

Alan promptly held his arm out to Edith, keeping her from moving a step until he had crossed the wild pathway and nodded, bringing her forward. Mr. Parker's office was actually a yurt likely bought secondhand from a trader in Mongolia, strategically placed so that the opening flap covered the entryway to the back office. When Edith stepped into it, she immediately realized that the cylindrical yurt was awkwardly set up due to the fallen beams from the roof so that it was more of a six sided… thing. To the far completed wall of the yurt was a messed cot that Mr. Parker was hurriedly trying to conceal with a blanket and clothes pins on a string nailed to adjacent posts. In the center was a desk made up of a door propped up on bricks and rocks, covered in papers, notepads, and a typewriter. The chairs set up for guests or coworkers were typical wood and comfortable, something Edith's feet were immediately grateful for.

"Please take a seat!" Mr. Parker called over his shoulder as he continued to cover his cot. "Be with you in just a moment!"

"It'll take a year to make this place suitable." Alan whispered to Edith as they sat.

Edith raised her eyebrows. "How generous, Alan."

Mr. Parker shoved a last clothespin onto the blanket, completely missing the string and leaving it to fall to reveal the pillow and his pajamas. In one swift movement, Mr. Parker grabbed a pencil, a notepad, and his desk chair and made his way to seat himself before Alan and Edith. "Now, Mrs. Sharpe. Tell me, how does it feel to be the sole owner of a decaying edifice responsible for countless murders?"

"Excuse me, sir." Alan began as Edith leaned back. "What is the meaning of this question?"

"I was promised an exclusive interview with Mrs. Sharpe, that's what my assistant told me."

"Lady Sharpe, Mr. Parker. And she did not agree to an interview."

Mr. Parker raised his brows, "So what is she doing here?" He gestured with his pencil to Edith.

"It feels absolutely terrifying, Mr. Parker." Edith answered, doing her best to swallow her ire. "Have you seen Allerdale Hall recently, sir?"

Alan covered her hands with his, whispering that she didn't have to respond. Mr. Parker, brown eyes alighting with pleasure, turned to Edith. "I have only witnessed Allerdale Hall in a book of great Cumberland houses, Lady Sharpe. I've never seen it in person."

"It is a great, and sublime house, absolutely terrifying to look at. The house bleeds with blood of crimson colored clay which gives it it's nickname 'Crimson Peak'. Many of the windows are shuttered up so that when the wind blows, it creates a vacuum and makes the house sound as if it is breathing. It can wake the soundest sleeper, and it can calm the most nervous cat." Edith paused while Mr. Parker took furious notes.

"How could it be calming, Lady Sharpe when you just described it as subliminal and terrifying?"

"Because Allerdale Hall envelops you into its bosom. It makes one's flesh feel the cold, but extends the warm whisper of comfort. There is beauty in the ancient halls, life in the threadbare furnishings. In this house, I saw horrors that you wouldn't believe. But I saw love and felt its warmth. I am overall awed and terrified to be sole owner of such an establishment."

Mr. Parker set to work recording her words while Edith leaned back in her chair, knowing that she had won this round. Suddenly, she caught Alan staring at her. He gazed at her with a warm smile that she felt down to her toes. He seemed to be studying her, enjoying her description of her nightmare house as though he was listening to an opera. He had never seen her like this, in the eye of a creative typhoon, churning out words that had spun her beloved Cavendish from being ink on a page to a living, breathing person.

Mr. Parker smiled, then turned back to Edith. "What do you plan on doing with this terrifying house?"

"I plan on using my husband's clay harvesting machine and opening up the mines with the help of my new investor. With that income, I will refurbish the house to the glory of the illustration in that book that enamored us both, Mr. Parker. I will give to my husband and child a dream come true."

"You're pregnant?" Mr. Parker blurted, looking from her to her stomach. Alan shot him a look that brought his eyes back to the notepad.

"As I was saying, my investor and I are well on track to begin production of the Sharpe clay mines. Just a bit of maintenance on the harvester itself and then we'll be in business."

"Maintenance?"

"Routine from the winter."

"Your investor must be well pleased with himself. What did he tell Mrs…?"

"I have not been well acquainted with my investor other than for business purposes. My husband's trial pending a dinner party invitation in his respected circle. They figure that I would not like to be seen in public until a verdict is given."

"I heard a rumor that your husband was planning on pleading guilty but was coerced by his lawyer into saying not guilty."

"Not true." Edith and Alan said in unison.

"So, you coerced him, Lady Sharpe?"

"Edith did nothing but support Thomas's decision to turn himself in." Alan spat. "His lawyer was just as shocked as we were that he had chosen to stand up for himself and separate his crimes from his sister's."

Edith looked at the reporter, watching him as he wrote out his notes. "Did Mr. Eagerton give you this information, Mr. Parker?"

Mr. Parker froze, rolling his eyes to look at Edith's skirts. "Why would you say that, Mrs- I mean, Lady Sharpe?"

"Because I know that they want to see Thomas hang for his father's transgressions and will go to any lengths to turn everyone against him." She smiled as he pulled out a handkerchief and patted his forehead. "That's rich coming from those four, one of them is my investor."

Both Alan and Mr. Parker jerked their heads to stare at her so quickly Edith could feel their whiplash.

"The deal was signed this morning over tea."

Alan nodded, realizing what she was doing. "So, he took it after all?"

Edith nodded, smiling. "He thought he was conducting a ruse of indifference. He couldn't get off his knees when he saw what his return would be."

"Well, it is a generous amount, after all."

Edith turned to him and smiled, "It's not generosity, Alan. It's business."

"May I quote that, Lady Sharpe?" Mr. Parker was nearly dancing off the edge of his seat, his grin wide.

She turned to him, "You may quote that my investor's return will be enough to start a horse farm, or even… a mill."

The grin faded and Mr. Parker's eyes widened. "A-a what?"

Edith's eyes narrowed. "Now do I have your undivided attention, Mr. Parker?"

He shook his head, dropping the pencil and grasping the seat of his chair. "You cannot do that! I've- I've saved so much for this place!"

"Who are the Moore's and why are you using the newspaper as a tool to overthrow them?"

"Francis Moore is my competitor! We wanted to merge the newspapers, but he backed out of it. He has had an incredible string of luck with his reporting whilst I've had crop failures and society gossip. I need this story and Mr. Eagerton promised to pay me enough to purchase this mill and have it refurbished!" He looked at the structure around them. "Please, have mercy! This is to be my legacy!"

"Please calm down, Mr. Parker." Edith told him, leaning forward like a teacher before a blubbering child. "I am simply playing the same game that you are participating in with Eagerton, Vale, Irving, and Lushton. I can make or break this mill without lifting my thumb."

She looked up at the yurt before settling back on him. "But, I think that that is cruel. I want to help you and I will start by resettling the cobblestone pathway up to here."

Mr. Parker's bottom lip wobbled for a moment before he asked, "In exchange for?"

"Full coverage of Thomas's trial and a feature on the harvesting machine, a full page adjacent to the society page. When the trial is over, I promise you, as Lady Sharpe, I will invest in this establishment."

"Regardless of the outcome?"

Edith inhaled and nodded. "Yes."

"Don't even think of casting the Sharpe's in a bad light, either." Alan added, "I will proofread every story you write on them or I promise you, I will buy this rock heap myself and turn it into a public lavatory."

AHAHAH

Edith peeled her shoes off the moment she entered her hotel room. Her feet had swollen from all the walking and pregnancy, but there was still work to be done. "You were fantastic today, Edith." Alan congratulated, pulling at his collar. "An investor?"

She smiled. "I remember my father was once raving mad that a promising inventor lied and said that he had an investor clawing for a machine he invested in. He discovered the truth after he had signed a five year, generous contract that he couldn't back out of. I always thought it was clever, though deceptive."

"So, what are your intentions with this information? Turn the EVIL lot against each other?"

"Exactly. I know for certain that one of the men is bullying the others into going against Thomas. And, with Mr. Holly asking questions about them, they'll be certain to turn against each other and reveal who is the leader and who can be led astray."

"Well, today's been long and exhausting. I'm going to have a bath, then pop downstairs for supper. Will you join me?"

Edith hesitated. "I don't think so, Alan, not tonight. I'm exhausted and, would like to be alone."

"Well then, let me bid you goodnight." He kissed her forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Afternoon." Edith piped. "Let's rest a bit, tomorrow." She wiggled her feet and gestured to her ankles.

"As the lady wishes." He smiled and glided out of her room, warm smile in his eyes and movement.

Edith sat on her bed, listening to him head down the hallway and exhaled before rising and turning on a bath. "Forgive me, Alan." She breathed as she grabbed her small, overnight suitcase on the way back to her bed. "But I'm going to have to miss lunch, too."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Crimson Road, Halfway Between Redsett and Allerdale Hall

The hills rolled green courtesy of the recent rains. Shoots of wildflowers burst through the heather along the side of the road, promising a full bouquet come May. The sheep bleated as they dotted the countryside, taming the wild grass and promising wool to be knitted in time for the winter. Edith could not deny the beauty her eyes collected, but her heart could.

As Mr. Applebee drew the carriage closer to Allerdale Hall, Edith felt the sickness of worry wrinkle her forehead and burden her shoulders. She had written a letter to Alan, explaining her need to go to Allerdale Hall alone to finish preparations for Mr. Parker's article on the harvesting machine, insisting that he meet with Mr. Holly to find anything against the EVIL lot. Edith opened her purse and withdrew a bottle of ginger beer, taking a generous sip and exhaling, hoping to alleviate her discomfort.

She hadn't told anyone besides Thomas about seeing the ghost of his mother, not even Alan. No one knew of her warning, and now no one knew why Edith insisted on going alone. Mr. Applebee had asked for Alan, having seen him deliver her to his shop the day before, but Edith simply told him that Alan would be busy and would remain in Carlisle. Mr. Applebee had hesitated, knowing she wasn't being fully honest, but said nothing and loaded her little overnight bag into his wagon next to his wicker one. Edith did not dare tell him about the ghosts. She could not risk him turning back around, even if he did pledge his support for Thomas. Besides, he would be outside with the harvesting machine, then back to the hotel. There was no need for him to enter the manor house.

"There she is, Lady Sharpe!" Mr. Applebee grinned, gesturing with his chin. "Just beyond that hill, there!"

Edith knew exactly where to look. As a new bride, she had bounced on the seat next to Thomas, craning her neck to see her new home with a wide smile, expecting to see the glamorous gothic revival house she had seen in a book on great Cumberland houses. The day after she and Thomas consummated their marriage, she had looked to the same hill with a fading smile and a growing sense of dread. Now, she looked to the hill with the same sense of returning an old adversary after a long, delirious vacation.

The turrets of Allerdale Hall shot atop the hill like thorn bushes, grey and brown attacking the blue sky. The main eye-catcher of the house being the two columned turrets, reminding Edith of a sort of family portrait of the house's tormentors. At first glance, the turrets reminded her of Thomas and Lucille, how they stood side-by-side regardless if they agreed with the other's schemes. They stood that way when Alan had arrived to rescue her, Lucille biding her time until she could kill her sister-in-law, and Thomas conflicted of the significant pull each woman had on him. Now that she had a moment to think and reflect, the two main turrets could have been Sir James and Lady Beatrice, her deceased in-laws.

What would they have been like, Thomas's parents had they not been murdered by their children? Well, eldest child as far as Edith was concerned. She didn't want to think that Thomas could murder his own parents. He hadn't directly murdered his wives, only poisoned them. All this madness, because of one couple. She could imagine them together, the stern looking woman in the portrait hanging in the parlor opposite the great fireplace and the crimson ghost standing next to an older version of Thomas. She had never seen a picture of Sir James, but she had enough of a legacy to go on. A cruel, riding crop wielding spendthrift with a handful of mental pictures that brought forth a thousand hurts with said riding crop if any of those pictures didn't come through exactly as depicted. How would they have treated her, if Thomas would have ever met her? Would they have rejected her as Lucille did? Would they have wanted an English bride rather than an American?

The carriage jerked and Mr. Applebee called out to the horses, calming them with his words. When they were settled and back on the journey, Edith saw another image in the stead of the turrets. Herself, and Thomas: Baronet and Lady Sharpe, master and mistress of this blood-stained land. The house was a part of her, whether she liked it or not. Edith inhaled and sat a little straighter. She was Lady of Allerdale Hall now, by marriage and by law. No towering, rotting, haunted edifice could scare her, now. The wrought iron gates were locked, but Edith had the key. Nothing this house could throw at her could stop her, now.

AHAHAH

Alan nibbled on his lunch, waiting for Edith to come down from her room to join him. She had looked quite tired yesterday, so he could not blame her for wanting to take a break. Thomas's trail was taxing her far more than she needed in her state. The sooner he is convicted, the better it will be for her, He thought. Too much stress is not good for the baby.

"Excuse me, sir."

Alan turned, finding the concierge dressed in a red trimmed, black suit standing close enough to be discreet but far enough to give respect. "Lady Sharpe asked me to give you this letter when you were halfway through your meal." He held out a letter, sealed with Edith's wax seal.

Alan took it, admiring the red butterfly sitting atop the initials E.C., "Is everything alright?"

He hesitated. "I believe the letter explains everything, sir. Excuse me, sir." He ran off.

Alan opened the letter, smiling at her neat calligraphy despite his nerves rising.

 _Dear Alan,_

 _I am so sorry that I must do this, but I need to be alone. By the time you read this I will have departed Carlisle and should now be on the road to Allerdale Hall with Mr. Applebee to prepare Thomas's machine. You have been invaluable these last few months, always being exactly where I needed you most. Now I need for you to remain in Carlisle, watching out for Thomas. Please Alan, I need to go back alone. I cannot explain so now, but I will when we see each other again._

 _All my love,_

 _Edith_

Alan lowered the letter, the delicious lamb in his stomach turning to ash. He refolded her letter and gripped it in his fist, jumping from his chair and shouldering a passing waiter. He fumed, stalking through the streets of Carlisle in such a cantor that the cobblestones beneath his feet blurred and the buildings became brick pathways to nowhere in particular.

What did Edith take him for? Was he a parakeet? Someone to keep feeding scraps from the tea table, someone to take out when they wanted company but no one that mattered? She said she loved him, but why was she treating him like he didn't matter? He crossed the street, causing a carriage driver to shout at him. He did not matter to her, that was the truth. She loved him from a distance, a courtly love. Thomas was her obsession, he had been since they met. Despite all that he did for her, it could never amount to what she wanted from Thomas. The time that Alan had with Edith had been borrowed, and someday he would have to give her back.

He gripped the iron fence of a house, coming to a complete stop. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally worn. He couldn't keep doing this anymore, he could not continue to chase a woman who had both hands gripped to the arm of her husband. Alan exhaled, looking to the letter in his hand. It was wrinkled now, her seal pressed with his fingerprints. From within him, he knew he had to pick a side. He had previously chosen Edith, but she had worn him ragged. He was not, ever, going to choose the man who hurt her.

He could still choose Edith, though. Alan knew one thing that Thomas had mentioned, but had not disclosed to his lawyer. He had seen it on Mr. Mason's desk, tucked into the envelopes of the named victims. One mention would bring it to light and could sway the entire trial.

Alan looked up to the house he had stopped at, recognizing it as the house of the Prosecuting Attorney for Thomas's trial. He exhaled and before he could talk himself out of it, Alan opened the gate and walked up the path. Three knocks brought a little girl dressed in a white cup dress and her hair in ribbons to the threshold, pulling open the door. "Hello, sir! May I help you?"

"Is your father home Miss…?"

"Samantha, sir. Yes, he is. He's in his study. Would you like to come in while I fetch him for you?"

"I would like that very much, Miss Samantha."

She let the door swing open while she danced away to the rear of the house, leaving Alan to step inside, admiring the entry chandelier. It was nothing like what Buffalo boasted, but it was close. Brass arms with cut mirror ornaments shaped like roses. Classic British, an heirloom. "Can I help you, sir?"

Alan turned to see the Prosecution Attorney, Mr. Bell, arrive. By the napkin still tucked into his shirt, he was also having lunch. "Mr. Bell, I believe?" Alan answered, holding out his right hand for a shake. "My name is Dr. Alan McMichael. I am a friend of the Sharpes."

Mr. Bell stiffened as he shook Alan's hand. He turned and dismissed his daughter, sending her up the stairs and turned back only when they heard a piano begin to play upstairs.

"What can I do for you, Dr. McMichael?"

"I was wondering how your end of the trial was going."

Mr. Bell frowned. "I do not believe I can disclose that with you, Dr. McMichael. Client privilege and such."

Alan nodded, "Right." He inhaled, "Did you know that Thomas had a son?"

The tension in Mr. Bell's eyebrows eased, and his pupils dilated. "I saw a baby in the photographs of Enola Sharpe. Cause of death was given as 'natural'. Why, what do you know about it?"

"I know that the baby was Lucille's with the sire officially unknown, although Thomas claims responsibility." His heart pounded, "It was deformed somehow and Enola was tasked with easing it's pain or fixing it. I also know, that it didn't die naturally."

AHAHAH

The interior of Allerdale Hall took Edith's breath away, but hardly for the right reasons. She opened the doors and saw a wall of leaves blown back from her entrance like a wave, left strewn about from the open ceiling. The wooden floor beyond the medieval rock mosaic entryway seeped claret colored clay from the moment she stepped onto it, suggesting that because they did not sweep the snow or mop up the rain, the floor had fallen into further disrepair than Thomas had initially warned. Bits of roofing was strewn about as well, but the hole in the roof did not seem to be any wider.

Lifting her skirt, Edith glided to the scullery, careful to not step in any greatly muddied area. It had been left just as she remembered it. The cloisonné teapot, cups, and saucers were next to the wash basin, but the red tea tin had been taken as evidence. Edith walked to it's empty spot and put in it's place a wooden box of oolong tea that she had brought with her. She looked around the scullery, eyes pausing on the water heater as well as the hearth that was constantly lit. Edith had begun making her way to the coal cellar when a knock nearly frightened her.

"Can you open up, Lady Sharpe?" Mr. Applebee's voice shouted from the outside.

Edith pressed a hand to her chest, mentally kicking herself to calm down. From her purse, she withdrew the ring of keys Thomas had given her and tried each one in the lock. How could Lucille keep track of twenty keys, all ranging in size and style? Some keys were long and cast iron with wide bits that suggested casting from at least one hundred years ago. Others were small, dirty brass that could have been cut within the last decade. Finally, she found one that fit, a long cast iron one that looked akin to the other seven ancient ones, and swung the door open to admit Mr. Applebee carrying a pail of coal and her suitcase. "Thank you, Mr. Applebee!"

"Not a problem, Lady Sharpe. Not a problem." He set her suitcase down on the preparation table and headed to the water heater. "But, we do have something to discuss, Lady Sharpe." He told her, shoveling coal into the small iron contraption. "This here is the last bit of coal I found." He swung the door closed and headed toward the hearth. "We'll be needing coal if we want the machine to work."

Edith nodded, a weight falling onto her shoulders that she couldn't explain. "I can go to mail depot, they always have some."

Mr. Applebee shook his head. "No, you're not, Lady Sharpe." He set the pail down before the great fireplace. "You are with child, Lady Sharpe. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. You cannot take up anything mow than knitting or a teapot. Me daughter-in-law married a milkman, an' carried the milk pails back and forth from the farm to the dairy larder. One day, she wet her skirt with blood and lost the child. Doctor said it were from lifting heavy objects day in an' out. No, Lady Sharpe, on the grave of my lovely Hyacinth, I won't allow you to get any coal." He distributed the coal evenly into the hearth and the water heater. "I'll ride out to the depot as soon as we've had our dinner."

Edith nodded despite the shiver down her spine. "The sooner the better, Mr. Applebee." She picked up the keys and headed out the door. "I'll get the food basket and fix us our suppers, then."

He nodded and pulled out a metal box filled chock full of matches. "I'll get these fires lit."

AHAHAH

Alan finished his whiskey and set the glass down on his dresser. He could not believe that he had told Mr. Bell Thomas's darkest secret. Partly because he had always known that that would be the nail in Thomas's coffin, and because he knew that that would be the nail in Thomas's coffin. Edith would kill him with her bare hands. But, if Mr. Bell disguised his inspiration for asking about Thomas's son as Alan had begged him, then there shouldn't be any worry.

He poured himself another glass. If it's so simple, then why do I still feel like shit? He thought. Because he had condemned the man the love of his life loved with all of her life. What if the stress of his execution caused her to lose the baby? Then Thomas would be completely gone from her life. But, then she would be doubly saddened. What if he told her that the reason for these losses was because of him? Threefold, then.

He sipped his whiskey. Could he live with himself not telling Edith? She could assume that things unfolded naturally and he was not to blame. She could fall out of love with Thomas once she knew the truth about his son. She could forsake him upon the gallows to go with Alan back to America. She could lose the baby out of seasickness. They could agree to tell people she lost the baby during transit… The whiskey burned Alan's throat and fumed his nostrils. With each gulp, his head lightened and his legs shivered. Could he be that man? Could he be Thomas who kept Edith in the poisoned darkness? He had no poison to put into her tea, but he had one great lie to tell, and lies were poison. Edith's marriage was evidence of that.

The door knocked and Alan drank his last glass of whiskey. "Come in."

A footman stepped in with a telegram. "Good afternoon, sir. We've received this telegram for you, sir." He held out the paper with a gloved hand.

"Read it."

The boy looked confused, "Excuse me, sir?"

"Read the damn telegram."

The butler looked to the bottle of whiskey before nodding, "Yes, sir. To Doctor McMichael Stop From Mr. Holly Stop Investigation has taken me to village of Redsett Stop Just saw Lady Sharpe travel through to big house with maintenance man Stop Villagers report strange goings on at Allerdale Hall happening after dark Sheriff most concerned Stop Permission to intervene Stop Meeting with four bulls to happen soon End."

Alan looked at the whiskey glass in his hand. The design was ivy, none of the leaves uniform, but cohesive. Handmade. "What do you think I should reply?"

More confusion, "You're asking me, sir?"

Alan rolled his eyes to the butler. "I'm in love with Lady Sharpe. Her husband is on trial, possibly going to be executed for his crimes. She keeps leaving me to do something foolish that can save him or make her incredibly wealthy. She has said she loves me, but will choose to help him because he is her husband. What should I do?"

The butler hesitated. "Personally, sir, I believe you are very drunk and should not be tampering with reasoning from the heart in such a state."

Alan chuckled. "I'm very drunk. I haven't been this way in a long time." He took the empty whiskey bottle and handed it to the butler. "I'm not going to respond to the telegram."

The butler nodded, "Very good, sir."

"You may go, now. I'm going to try and crawl into bed and I might make a fool of myself, so I don't want you to see."

"The telegram, sir?" He gestured to Alan and then to the desk. "Shall I just leave it here?"

Alan grabbed it. "Get out!" The butler ran out so fast all Alan could comprehend was the slamming door, leaving him all alone. Alan leaned back on his chair, setting the crumpled telegram and his whiskey glass on the desk. He was going to be alone, regardless of what he did. If he didn't tell her the truth, Edith would always mourn Thomas as her first true love lost to her because of his betrayal, though she wouldn't know it. If he did, then she would scorn him and resent him for betraying her.

He grabbed handfuls of his blond hair and sank to his knees, doubling over and letting what tears he could conjure come to light. "Edith!" He sobbed, "Edith, forgive me! I love you! I'll do anything for you." He rocked back and forth, his core absolutely sore with emotion.

"Darling, forgive me!"

AHAHAH

Edith opened her suitcase and removed from it her immediate needs, such as her toiletries bag and her spare pair of shoes. It felt absolutely strange to be back in her old master bedroom again. She smiled, remembering her first night here in the house. It had been absolutely frigid, but Thomas scurried back and forth making it warm enough for her. Now she knew just what he had done.

Thomas had secured for her a generous amount of coal from his sister's rigid system of management to have a fire burning all night. He had placed the only hot water bottle under her side of the mattress so that her feet would still have toes come morning, and he had made sure that the hot water heater stoked properly, something that Mr. Applebee noted was amiss. The only thing that she could see that he did visibly for Lucille was that he gave her the warmest quilt in the house, likely because she slept with very little coal for her fire. He also slept next to her more than he did with me, She added, going into the bathroom.

 _Tick! Tick! Tick!_

Suddenly, she whirled around. She knew that presence, she knew that familiar hair straightening feeling that something was there with her. Edith straightened, swallowed, then went from the bathroom to her bedroom where she exchanged her toiletries for keys and stomped out to the staircase. The majestic cherry staircase sprawled out before her, standing in the heart of the house where she had nearly died. She gripped the railing that had broken her leg once before, the keys echoing throughout as she moved. This needed to stop, they needed to know who their mistress was.

"I am Lady Edith Sharpe!" She shouted, "I own this house now. Thomas left it to me, me, Lady Edith Marie Cushing Sharpe!" She lifted the keys over her head and shook them. "Remember these, former Ladies Sharpe?" She shook them again, metal clanging like windchimes in a hurricane. "Lucille wouldn't let us have them. She thought herself to be the only lady for Thomas and for this house. Well, guess what?" She opened the key ring and clipped it onto her belt. "These keys are mine, because this is my house! Anyone who has a problem with that can see me, Lady Edith Sharpe!" She stepped back, her smirk wide. "Oh, and one more thing!" She rushed back to the railing, "I'm pregnant! That's right! I fucked Thomas and have something to show for it!" She leaned back, showing her slightly bulging stomach, moving it from the right wing to the left. "Our child is going to know this place as the beautiful house that Thomas remembers from his childhood. Even if that means levelling this edifice and starting over. So ghosts, take notice, your days of haunting here are numbered! Leave now, or be levelled!"

Edith turned her heel and descended down the stairs, head held high and keys clinking like exit music for the prima donna. Mr. Applebee had left the kitchen fire going as he went out to buy more coal from the postal depot before it closed for the night, making it easy for Edith to swing the cast iron kettle into the fire for tea. She took the black Chinese cloisonné teapot and scrubbed it over and over again, praying that her victory speech would not be spoiled by lingering poison. It couldn't be, Thomas had drunk from the same teapot. She had seen him do so in the past. With a satisfied tap, Edith scooped a good spoonful of oolong tea into the pot before rescuing the whistling pot from the fire. Smiling, she assembled the tea tray complete with her favorite biscuits and swept into the bedroom parlor where Thomas had once soothed her with a cup of bitter poisoned tea after she had first seen Lady Beatrice as a ghost. She set the tray down and assembled her first cup before the cold hearth and candles, smiling. "My dear Romeo, I drink to thee." She sipped her scalding tea confident that she was the only Lady Sharpe of value in this house.

AHAHAH

Mr. Applebee whistled as he led the wagon to the postal depot. The sandwiches that Lady Sharpe had made were nothing like his daughter's, but he was biased. "Come along, Nightie," He called to his horse who stalled, "Come on!"

Suddenly, the horse lurched and bolted, sending Mr. Applebee back, legs over head, into the wagon bed. As he bounced, Mr. Applebee's head smacked the side of the wooden coal box, immediately rendering him unconscious. He rolled as his horse cantered crazily through the yard of the postal depot, finally falling into the mud as men rushed to tame his horse. "Are you alright, man!" Someone shouted to an unconscious Mr. Applebee. The horse was seized, but not before breaking an axle on the wagon. A stray nail in one of the horse's hooves was discovered to be the culprit. Mr. Applebee himself was taken into the postal depot and a runner sent for the doctor.

"Lady Sharpe," Mr. Applebee breathed, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head, "Help Lady Sharpe. She's alone… with her."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Allerdale Hall

Edith wrapped herself in a shawl, looking out the ancient window in the library for any sign of Mr. Applebee. The candles had melted down to the silver candlesticks, small nibs of flame still burning, but only just. Somewhere behind her, a clock struck midnight, prompting her eyes to suddenly weigh heavy. Edith turned to the candles and blew them out.

Something had happened to Mr. Applebee, she was certain of it. But, what was the cause? Had someone stopped him? Was he contracted by one of the EVIL lot to take and abandon her here? Edith headed back to her bedroom, her heels clicking throughout the quiet house. Don't think like that, She commanded herself. You don't know what happened to him. As she undressed, her thoughts flew to Alan. He once came after her when he thought she was in danger. Would he do so again? She couldn't depend on Alan to save her right away. He had a legitimate reason the first time to come after her; Now she deserved everything that came to her.

Edith pulled back the bedsheets and crawled in, looking to the ceiling with elegant dipping pikes placed in lines to form diamonds. Edith nestled into the cold sheets, grateful that they were not threadbare. She and Thomas had never been intimate in this bed; he had been far too afraid of Lucille to do anything more than kiss her forehead. Edith added another reason to be bitter towards her former sister-in-law: she had taken the pleasure of the marriage bed from her. Edith paused for a moment, then wiggled her way to Thomas's side of the bed, pressing her stomach to the mattress and stroking the pillow with her nails. How would it have happened, their consummation night, if they had been permitted one in this bed? Would he have come from the bath as he had deferred to when it was supposed to happen, skin moist and hair damp? Or, if she had been more daring, she could have joined him in the bathroom. The tub was certainly big enough for two; the question was if he would have accepted her. Immediately, his face of pure longing flashed in her mind. Yes, he would have accepted her.

Edith smiled, remembering Thomas in the heat of passion, biting his bottom lip and watching her, inhaling sharply and moaning a soft baritone, encouraging her. He was always so gentle with her, but always passionate. Every kiss screamed his longing, and each thrust was given with desperate affection. But, his eyes were what she loved the most about their moments of intimacy. He had told her, seemingly a lifetime ago, when they prepared to dance while holding a candle, that he always closed his eyes to things that made him uncomfortable. She had seen it twice, once when he was working on his machine and twisting a knob that burned him, the second when she caught him in a moment of intimacy with Lucille. Though he gave the sounds of pleasure, his eyes were sealed shut, and his face was turned away from her. With Edith, she had his undivided attention and his responses were proof of his preference.

She snuggled into the pillow, her mind haunted by the sight of that wretched moment that turned her world upside down. No, not the sight, that song. That lullaby that Lucille sang into Thomas's ear as she accosted him, that siren's song that she played throughout the night to remind him of his place in that house. Edith could imagine them as children, hurt by their parents, Thomas torn between concern for his sister and the reprimands of their father, Lucille trying to find her place in such a world. She could imagine him being comforted by such a song, soothed by it's words of taking him far from such agony. What were those words again? Lucille sang them so gently, so clearly, Edith could never forget them.

 _"Let the wind blow kindly  
In the sail of your dreams  
And the moon light your journey  
And bring you to me  
We can't live in the mountains  
We can't live out at sea  
Where oh, where oh, my lover  
Shall I come to thee?"_

Edith closed her eyes, mulling over the words. Lucille wrote to Thomas her lusts while he was away at school, did she use this song as a type of code? Was she always using this song to manipulate him? If so, then Edith could never use such a lullaby for her child. How could she parallel such unnatural yearnings with one so sweet, and so innocent as her baby? She exhaled and opened her eyes. Would that bloody song stop playing in her mind?

Slowly, she sat up, frowning. Edith turned her head, trying to determine if one ear was playing tricks with the other. Her heart skipped a beat and she froze. It wasn't. She was not imagining the lullaby, it was really playing throughout the house. The piano from below issued the feathery, ominous waltz that was Lucille's lullaby, played with the additional twinkling chimes that highlighted her talent. Edith breathed in sharply, shuffling herself to the Cherrywood headboard and pillows, her mind screaming while her lungs focused on life. No! She thought, Not her! Mama, Lady Beatrice! But not her!

There was no one in the world who could play that lullaby in that fashion, Edith was sure of it. She had had lessons as a child, and her instructor told her that she could never play as a concert pianist she admired could. Edith would have to make her own melody when she mastered her instrument. Lucille knew that lullaby. Lucille knew that piano downstairs. Lucille… was dead. Edith panted, trying to calm herself down and relaxed her fists from gripping the pillows. Since when did the dead pay attention to the rules around her?

Edith stumbled out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown off a chair, and threw it on, hands trembling as she tied the knot. Why she was going down to look, she didn't know. Her mother-in-law had frightened her half to death when first they met, the second was no better. Enola and the other spectre wives had been helpful, but were nonetheless nightmarish. Shaking, she lit a candelabra and blew out the match. "Alright," She breathed, "I am Lady Sharpe. I am mistress of this house." She took the candelabra, commanding her shaking to cease. "I command this house." Slowly, she opened her bedroom door and looked down the hallway.

Edith gasped when she looked down the corridor and saw the flowing spectre of Enola, carrying Thomas's baby. She was there at the railing, ignoring Edith, stroking her stepson and watching the concert below. Edith slowed her gait as she approached her, her breath fogging before her as the temperature dropped. Around the side of Enola, closer to the grand staircase, coming up from the floor and supporting herself with boney death grips on the rails, Edith figured to be Pamela Upton judging the decay of her spectral form. She too, was watching the concert, her head and sopping wet hair twitching but focused. Edith looked down to the piano, raising her candelabra higher to see the red figure below, then frowned. There wasn't a red spectral form below, but there was something blocking the view of the piano. Edith looked across the railing to the other side of the floor, seeing another woman's naked claret figure, Lady Beatrice, and the elaborate dress of another bride with her a half skull and cropped wedding finger, perhaps Margaret McDermott? They were all there, all watching their tormentor play below.

Edith walked slowly, listening to the lullaby play as though on a record, her candelabra eye level to see everything, every shadow, and every movement. Unfortunately, with the dim lighting, more shadows seemed to be created than dispersed, making Edith's nerves rise with each step. She reached the floor, wishing that she had had enough wits to don her slippers before coming down by the feel of the clay, leaves, and bits of upper flooring sticking to her toes. It was only a few steps to the library, but each one felt like a lifetime. The atmosphere dropped immensely, reminding Edith of the night of their escape, running through the bitter snow to escape her.

She crossed the threshold, and there she was. Seated before the piano like a throne, playing with fingers of bone, her emerald dress smoking about her, was Lucille. Edith felt her heart hammer against her chest and could have sworn her hair stood on end at the sight of her sister-in-law, her rival, sitting as she had in life before her beloved piano. Edith inched forward, raising her candelabra higher to better absorb the sight of this new phantom. Her hair was tied back in her tight bun, her cheeks were bone but seemed to be painted the same deep green of her dress. From her neck poured the greatest amount of smoke and vapors, a clean cut from where her brother ended her terror over their lives.

Edith did not know what to do in this moment. Was Lucille playing out of habit, or was she trying to speak to Edith? She heard her message loud and clear as did the rest of the spectre wives and Lady Beatrice. How convenient that she appeared now that Edith had asserted her claim over the house. Edith inhaled, "Lucille."

She continued playing, trilling notes that sounded both peaceful and eerie.

"Hee-dith."

Edith whirled around to see the naked body of Lady Beatrice strut towards her, her hips jutting out uncomfortably as she moved.

Lucille stopped playing the lullaby, her middle finger clanging one key so that it resonated and doused the sweet melody with a timbre of malice. Edith looked to both apparitions, her hair flying about her shoulders.

"Hee-dith! Leave, now!"

Edith's heart pounded even faster, and her skin began to rise into millions of small protests, but she swallowed and straightened. "This is my house."

Lucille clanged the note again, a sharp, shrill note that sent shivers down Edith's spine.

"Stop that!" Edith yelled, glaring at Lucille. "Do you hear me? This is my house! I will have silence in it at night." She looked to Lady Beatrice to make sure that this command was to be followed by her as well. Her mother-in-law's tennis ball sized eyes darted wildly around the library and she began to shake her head in more of a twitch than rapid shake.

Suddenly, Edith felt the cold, and the feeling of dread, ascend behind her. Edith looked back, her own breath nearly fogging her sight, but she could not mistake what happened next. Lucille turned her head, revealing a sinister face of deep emerald with unusually high cheekbones, and dark holes where her eyes should have been. The look she gave Edith was that of pure, unfiltered hate, and the feeling she exuded was that of the highest danger. Edith exhaled and stepped back as her figure rose.

 _Tick. Tick. Tick._

The sound came from Lucille's figure. Two keys clicked together on her belt, swaying with her movement.

Ire surged through Edith's veins, and blood roared in her ears. "I have the real keys. I am mistress of Allerdale Hall." She gripped the candelabra tighter.

Lucille hovered closer to Edith, her keys clinking despite the solid movement. _Tick. Tick. Tick._

"Leave me alone!" Edith screamed, clamping onto the candelabra with both hands. "Leave Thomas alone! Leave our child alone!"

At the sound of the word, "child," Lucille's figure halted.

"You heard me! I'm pregnant!"

Eyes and what could pass as skin flooded Lucille's face, as though the prospect of her rival further touching the love of her life needed to be examined fully, beyond the grave. Her eyes were like diamonds, cold and clear, hard. Her skin still green, paled so that she looked similar to what she had been in life. Still, from her neck came plumes of bloody smoke that did not relent no matter how upset the apparition became.

Her mouth opened, jaw touching her collarbone, and screamed, "THOOOMMAAAASSS!"

Edith brought the candelabra down on her vaporous frame, like a rock on a pool of water. "Leave us alone!"

Lucille's figure reshaped, her hands reaching out for her enemy. Edith swung the candelabra back up, dissipating her arms and dispelling what candles remained in the silver bowls. Over and over she swung, nearly throwing her arms out as she flung about, determined to erase the memory of this monster, this demon. "Leave us alone!"

The candelabra flew out of her hands and a force she could not interpret nor describe knocked her down, sending her sliding across the stone tiles. Edith gasped, cradling her head and watching her world spin. A pain touched her eye, a pain like a finger jamming itself into it like had once stabbed her months ago. Edith cried and covered her eye, trying to find Lucille's form. She took her time rematerializing. Perhaps she was worn out, if such a thing was possible for ghosts.

Edith crawled her knees, the pressure of her baby weighing heavily upon her. She touched her stomach, smoothing the pout of flesh under her nightgown. How foolish of her! How could she not protect such an innocent little thing? The child was bound to her, depending on her for not only shelter, but for it's very existence. If she died, so did Thomas's baby. Edith dropped her hand from her eye, looking around the decaying house, chest heaving.

"This is my house." She breathed. "This house belongs to me."

Over the doorway to the library, engraved in gold plates on the family crest of laurels curving around a skull, the words "Mors omnes vincit."

"Death conquers all," Edith breathed. She stumbled out to the main foyer, standing beneath the open ceiling, feeling the draft and the eyes of Allerdale Hall looking down on her. "Not this time."

She hardly felt the steps beneath her feet, or the banister beneath her fingers. Edith didn't care, however. She threw off her dressing gown, tore her nightdress off, and dressed faster than she had ever dressed before, not even bothering with her hair. She took only the keys to the house, her ring, and Thomas's blueprints, keeping them all together as she slid the strap over her head to swing the cylinder onto her back. Edith inhaled, then rushed to her bureau where she kept the matches. One strike, and a flame burst forth. "Time for a new motto."

Edith turned to the canopy above her bed, the one Lucille and Thomas had slept in, and touched the match to the drapes until they caught fire. The threadbare fabric had no trouble catching, nor did the sheets below it. A noise clanged downstairs, and in the bathroom. It was as though the other inhabitants could not believe Edith's decision, either. She rushed to the bathroom, seeing Lady Beatrice stand in the middle of the room, her face aghast and her shoulders hunched. "I'll protect him." Edith told her, grabbing a white cotton towel. "I'll protect your son, and grandchild." With that, she turned her heel and rushed out to the corridor.

Pamela, half of her body visible, crawled up the stairs pointing to the room upstairs and moaning as loud as she could. Edith looked up, remembering the nursery and Lucille's room. Gathering her skirts, Edith bounded up the stairs to the topmost floor and threw the latch that summoned the elevator, hurrying onward while it came. Edith felt a pang of guilt surge through her heart when she entered Thomas's study, but pushed the feeling aside as she gathered the scattered papers and set them on fire, rescuing a book of notes that looked like child's writing at the last minute. She whirled around, hearing shrieking throughout the house. No, not shrieking, wind that made the house breathe. It sounded like shrieks, tonight. Edith bounded around the top floor to the horrid room where Lucille had lived and collected her treasures of pinned butterflies and cuts of victim's hair. Edith set her bed on fire, smiling as it caught.

When Edith left Lucille's bedroom, smoke had collected so that it became harder for Edith to see. She coughed, straining her eyes to see. "Where is the exit?"

"Edith!"

Her blood curled, but she knew that voice. "Mama!"

"Come, my child! Follow my voice!"

She obeyed, ignoring the heat of the growing fire in Thomas's study to wind around the halls where a solid figure of black waited, calling her name. "Edith! Edith!"

Edith had never felt anything but fear for that veiled spectre that was supposed to be her mother. But now, seeing her standing there in her funeral attire, her bones clearer now in death, arms outstretched, Edith ran to her like she had as a child, her heart soaring. "Mama!"

She ran through the shape, catching the railing before hurtling headlong over it. Around her swirled the black smoke that made up the images of the ghosts, reminding Edith of her place in this world. Yet, among the burning of papers and cloth, among the charring of dust, Edith smelled a hint of lilac and peppermint, her mother's favorite scents. Edith could feel her tears swelling, her shoulders shuddering. Her mother was always there to protect her. Now, she needed to harness that strength, that love, that never died.

Edith hurried to the iron ribbed elevator and jumped in, shutting the doors and turning the dial to take her down to the parlor. She could see the orange flames leap out of the master bedroom and saw a pillar of smoke slither from the attic to the hole in the ceiling, clouding what view she had of the stars. Suddenly, the elevator stopped with a jolt, nearly making her knees buckle. Edith looked around, her heart pounding against her chest. She threw the dial once more, trying to summon movement from the machine. She fluttered about, pressing her palms to the decorative steel in a full panic, feeling like a butterfly in one of Lucille's jars. The doors were blocked by the various ascending floors, she had nowhere to go and the fire was picking up.

Suddenly, the elevator jolted, making Edith's knees nearly buckle once again. She touched her stomach, a reflex she didn't know she had gained and looked down to her pudgy stomach. That's when she saw her, Enola, with one hand on the cables of the elevator, Thomas's son in the crook of her other arm. "What are you doing?" Edith screamed, dropping to her knees to better see her through the iron bars. The baby answered for her, gesturing upwards with it's little hand and a haunting cry. Edith looked up, pressing her cheek to the iron ribs of her cage.

Lucille had both hands on the opposing cable, doing all that she could to pull the cab upward to her.

Edith fell back, panting, chest tight with sheer terror. They were fighting for her, but she could do nothing to help herself from inside this cab! The elevator jolted again, this time falling a foot. Edith gripped her skirt, panicking. What if Lucille got to her? What if Enola won? Would both spectres be angry that she was burning the house down? Enola yanked on the cable, dropping the cab another foot. Edith shook her head. Enola couldn't be upset, they had been helping her this whole time.

Edith looked to the doors and slid them open, realizing that there was a gap about two feet wide between the floor and about a six-foot drop to freedom. Edith ripped off the cylinder case and slid it through the gap, making her intentions clear to all around her. Lucille pulled harder, closing the gap by several pivotal inches. Edith coughed, noticing the smoke as it clouded lower and lower. Enola held firm to her cable, yanking again and dropping the elevator about a foot more. Then six inches lower. Edith seized the opportunity, shoving her legs out, knees down, and scooting her way gingerly out of the cab. The elevator shivered, prompting Edith to shove herself out into a freefall before she or her baby could be squashed by the iron structure.

She landed with an ungraceful _smack!_ on the second-floor landing, thankfully on her feet before falling back to her bottom. She cried out, her leg that had previously been broken from falling reminding her of the fact. Lucille howled from above, dropping the cable along with Enola and sending the elevator crashing through the chute so that it landed in the clay pits below, sending up a cloud of red dust and the clangs of splintering metal. Edith placed a hand to her chest, doing her best to calm herself down, willing herself to carry on.

A crimson hand, clean of skin, reached out and handed Edith her pack of matches. She turned, seeing the half body of Pamela next to her, the cylinder case in her other hand. She pushed them to Edith, barely able to lift her head. Edith watched her, measuring her willingness to help her destroy her very existence. Slowly, she took the matches and the cylinder case, slipping the strap over her head. Trembling, she scrambled to her feet and lit another match, touching it to the drapes, then lighting another and setting it on an oversized chair that looked like a butterfly (So many moths and butterflies! Edith thought, reveling in the color the flames gave this butterfly). When she turned around, Pamela was still on the floor but was opening a cabinet door, moaning to Edith to come and look. Edith rushed over, finding glass jars of kerosene for oil lamps. Edith took one, unscrewed the cap, and flung the liquid over the floors, watching it catch fire. Taking a second jar, she found the small bathroom towel she had stuffed into her belt and bolted out the parlor.

Lucille screamed as she saw her house, her beloved temple, burning all around her. Edith paid her no heed as she scurried down the stairs and fumbled with the kerosene jar, unscrewing the cap and stuffing the towel into it. She ran through the ground floor, her feet squelching with the sound of clay seeping up through the floorboards, until she found the library where Lucille cried over her piano, her forefinger touching the first note of her precious lullaby. Edith tucked the jar under her arm and struck a match, lighting the towel.

"LUCILLE!" Edith screamed.

The spectre looked up, sheer hatred exuding from her very core. She stood, a menacing, tall thing that could have been a peacock had she not been so skeletal. She shrieked at Edith, her mouth opening beyond that which was natural.

"Catch this!" Edith hurtled the flaming jar at her.

The spectre, worn out from her battle with the elevator, reached out to catch the jar, but failed. The flame split her image and the jar shattered on the floor, spraying her beloved piano with kerosene that ignited when kissed by the flame. The last thing Edith saw of Lucille was her image fading in a shower of flames, tears smoking from her eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Outskirts of Redsett, Postal Depot

The Vicar watched as smoke continued to billow over Crimson Peak, staining the day, his spirit doing a combination of victory dances and solemn hymns. They had all seen the glow from the village, his wife even inviting him onto the roof of the church to get a better look. There was nothing that they or anyone in the town could do other than watch a sunset in the middle of the night. If a fire brigade was assembled, they would have to bring water from the wells outside of the Postal Depot, one wagon, maybe two, at a time, after taking a good two to three hours to get to the flaming establishment. As for the men at the depot, none of them were severely shaken, only stunned. The haunted, terror house upon the blood red hill, was gone.

The Vicar walked into the depot, immediately removing his hat, and nodded to the men who called out to him. "Good morning, gentlemen." He sighed, "So, what happened last night, Daniel?"

Daniel, a mousy haired man with bright green eyes and a nervous bashfulness due to his drinking, swallowed. "We were asleep, Vic. It were th' dogs that woke oos. Barking and howlin' toward Allerdale Hall."

The Vicar nodded, very obviously overlooking the fact that Daniel was not married and had been warned about continuing his affair with the cobbler's wife. "Were there any victims, this time?"

"No, Vic." Daniel continued, pushing his cup of coffee out of sight. "Lady Sharpe got out alright. She walked to-wards as though in a daze, box of matches inner hand, blueprint case on her back. Spoke noothing but gibberish, couldn't make sense of it. We took her oop, gave her some port, showed her to the room downstairs. She started cryin' when she saw it. Said something 'bout that was their room, hers and Sir Thomas's. That's why we called you, Vic. She's not doin' good. Cried herself to sleep 'round dawn, kept the case to 'er chest. She looks like she were in the family way, too."

Several of the men nodded and gave grunts of agreement. The Vicar sighed, "Is she still indisposed?"

"Nah, Daphne tooker some tea and scones, said Lady Sharpe was oop. Said she'd stooped cryin' for a while."

The Vicar stepped forward, "Would you be so kind as to show her to me, please?"

The room was one that the Vicar had used once personally, and several times professionally. The first time was with his wife to evade a sudden rainstorm, the other times were to give missionary aid to whomever appeared suddenly at the Depot. Raped women, victims of highwaymen, and those who did not want to disclose their tales of woe were taken to this small refuge that smelled of mushrooms and occasionally of sawdust. Upon the bed, still dressed in her singed and red clay smeared clothing that looked like blood, was Lady Sharpe with the cylinder case propped reaching distance on the wall next to her, a cup of tea in her hands.

The Vicar swallowed, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Lady Sharpe?"

She placed her cup back on her saucer and swallowed. "Vicar." She didn't look at him.

The Vicar smiled uncomfortably, "I hear you had some trouble with the stove."

She turned to him, her face framed by tangled bowers of gold. "Why must a woman be silly in her actions? Must she always be treated as an accident?"

The Vicar was taken aback at her tone. Then he remembered, she was an American. "No. Women are not accidents. I was trying to lighten the mood."

"Nothing feels light around me, anymore." With one hand, she held her tea and saucer and with the other, she smoothed her stomach. "I kept thinking about the baby, last night. How foolish it was of me to start a fight with something so precious needing my every moment."

"You fought with someone, Lady Sharpe?"

Lady Sharpe took a sip of her tea. "Yes, I did."

The Vicar's eyes shot open wide and his heart began to beat faster, "With whom? Mr. Applebee was at the doctor's. Was there an intruder?"

"Of sorts," Lady Sharpe told him, "Lucille. She tried to threaten me. I wouldn't let her. I fought with her, then set the house on fire."

The Vicar hesitated, quickly reminding himself of the rules of priest-parishioner confidentiality before continuing. "You started the fire?"

"Yes. It was the only way that I could think of that would rid it of it's former inhabitants. They wouldn't forget." She picked up her cup, "Especially forgive." She sipped. "Besides, I remember hearing my father tell me once that when a house showed signs of sinking, there were few options left other than selling the house and let someone else deal with it. Or, tear the house down and pour a more solid foundation that won't sink with the ground. Allerdale Hall needs steel supports beneath it. Steel, and perhaps brick supports walling it in."

Though the Vicar's knowledge of engineering was limited to the maintenance of the church, he had to nod and agree that she was right; something had to be done to stop the sinking of the house. "How are you, Lady Sharpe?"

"Exhausted." She breathed, setting her cup down on the saucer.

"Because of your husband and your baby?"

"And Alan." She set the teacup down on the nightstand and turned to him. "I am in love with two men, Vicar. The man I married, and the man who rescued me. Both, are stretching me beyond what I think I am able. Which frightens me for when my little one comes along." She rubbed her stomach again, trailing off.

The Vicar swallowed. "Well, my first question is, are you certain of the child's father?"

Lady Sharpe glared at him, "Thomas."

"Forgive the nature of my questioning, Lady Sharpe. It's been known to happen that the cause of a lady's marital woes revolves around the questionable parentage of her child."

She shrugged once, familiar with the theory if not the practice. "Thomas is the only man I've ever known intimately. But, he's not the only man I've ever kissed."

"Yes, Miss Henson came to me asking if she should dismiss Doctor McMichael from her house for committing adultery with a married woman. I assured her that I would speak to the two of you first, before giving out a sentence. I also told her that gossip would be sternly met."

Lady Sharpe smiled, then leaned back onto the wooden headboard, looking to the beams holding up the Post Office. "I couldn't help it when I kissed Alan. I wanted him." She swallowed, "But I want Thomas more." She rested her hands on her stomach and turned to him, "My first baby was conceived here," She nearly whispered. "Lucille went mad when she found out, but it was worth it." She looked down to her pout, but the Vicar wondered what exactly she was seeing. "I love Thomas, but, I feel that he is driving me mad."

"Then why are you doing this for him, Lady Sharpe? Why are you here?"

She looked at him, "Is anyone ever really just sitting around when the one they love is on trial?"

"Very few are willing to burn down their husband's ancestral home to escape what demons haunted within, and attempt to become engineers to make their dreams come true."

She smiled. Lady Sharpe was quite handsome, he had to admit. She inhaled, "From what I could infer, no one fought for Thomas, and I mean really fight as though in a boxing match. They beat him, controlled him, protected him, were insanely jealous for him, but not fight for him. I wanted to end that cycle. Doesn't the Bible say you should fight for your husband?"

"Yes." The Vicar smiled, "1 Peter 4:8, 'Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.' If you love someone, you are willing to fight for what you have. And God made you a fighter, Lady Sharpe." He sighed and leaned closer, "Lady Sharpe, according to the book of Psalms, Thomas's days were numbered before he was even born. If it is his time to depart from this life, then there is nothing that you can do to keep him with you for even five minutes more." She nodded, listening, her framed face calm. "You cannot wear yourself ragged for something that you are powerless to."

She frowned, "Are you scolding me for burning down my house?"

"Not at all, Lady Sharpe. But you must consider this, you are with child. That baby will need a good mother and, until proven otherwise, that good mother is you. The father may be questionable, but it will have at least one good parent to cling to in its very early years."

"What are you saying I should do?"

"Do what you must, then stop. Please, Lady Sharpe. You run the risk of overexertion and that is detrimental to yourself and the baby. What your heart feels, so can your baby." He gestured to her middle.

Lady Sharpe nodded stroking her stomach. "I will stop, when I've done what Thomas always wanted."

"Does his dream have to be yours, Lady Sharpe? No ambitions of your own?"

"No," She nearly whispered, making him lean forward, "It's for our child. He can't inherit a useless machine and a pile of ashes now, can he?"

The Vicar smiled, but did not feel any semblance of joy. "In that case, I shall retire to the church." He stood, "And pray for you and your family tonight at compline."

Lady Sharpe turned to him, "What, no further discouragement? Advice and then farewell?" She snorted and genuinely smiled, "You're just like Alan when I began my courtship with Thomas."

"Perhaps he saw then what I do now." She waited, giving him the smallest semblance of joy. For the first time, he commanded the room. "A bull headed, relentless woman that succeeds in that which she deems worth her time. Not in the slightest because she has the talent for success as other women do, but because of relentless badgering and pounce. Like a leaky faucet dripping on a lead pipe."

Edith chuckled, "My father would look at me with the same ire and fatigue when I displayed relentless determination as you do, sir."

The Vicar sighed more than chuckle, "And keep off your feet, I don't have to be a nurse to notice those swollen ankles." He gestured to the foot of the bed where her ankles showed slightly from under her skirt, a slight round bulge circling just above the foot. "Would you like to pray before I go?"

"I'd like to hear it."

"Alright." He bowed his head, noticing that Lady Sharpe did not. "Father God, I thank you for this woman you have given us. I thank you for giving her the strength of Esther, to carry the burden of her family on her shoulders. Lord, I ask now that you give her the peace of mind to take what verdict is rendered. I pray that she might forgive the judge and her husband's prosecutors for what they must do." The Vicar stopped, he couldn't pray anymore. In all his years of teaching and formulating impromptu prayers, today he couldn't finish. He took it as a queue, "Lord Jesus, let her know true forgiveness, the kind that relinquishes bitterness. The kind that takes hate and replaces it with love. Not eros sexual love, but agape love, love for a god. Only you can fix this family, this legacy, Lord. I pray for the child formulating as I speak." He peeked a glance a Lady Sharpe who looked down at her belly. "I thank you for the good man that is his sire, and for the loving man that may raise him-"

"Or her," Lady Sharpe breathed.

"I thank you that no matter the circumstance, this baby will be raised accordingly. It will be taught to be upstanding, it will have good morals and manners as dictated by your Word, Lord Jesus. Above all Lord, I thank you that regardless of the terror and the wickedness of this day, this baby shall be loved by two parents." His thoughts ran dry once more, so he swallowed and concluded, "This I pray in Jesus' name, amen."

He opened his eyes, looking to Lady Sharpe as she looked ponderingly down at her belly, her breathing soft. "Leave me, please."

The Vicar panicked, "Forgive me, Lady Sharpe. My thoughts are fleeing me, today."

"I wish to be alone."

"Did I say the wrong thing?"

"You heard the Lady, sir."

The Vicar whirled around, his heart thumping rapidly when he saw a man sitting on the staircase, watching them. Just looking at this man, the Vicar would have considered him more manservant than threat. The glint of a silver pistol holstered on his belt half visible, changed that disposition. He dipped his balding head, "Good day."

"Vicar, please meet my associate Mr. Holly. Mr. Holly, this is the town Vicar."

The Vicar turned back to Mr. Holly, seeing his beady, half closed eyes shoot over his frame. The Vicar swallowed, "Good day, Mr. Holly." He had barely begun to raise his hand to gesture towards going up the stairs when Mr. Holly was on his feet and coming down the stairs, ready to follow him up.

AHAHAH

Edith nibbled on a scone with jam and clotted cream, listening to Mr. Holly return. His step was so much lighter than Thomas's. Thomas would walk briskly, with meaning. Usually it was because Thomas was burdened with thoughts of engineering or the trial. Mr. Holly was more like a cat; intentions hidden, but stealth above all.

"You've attracted quite the gander, Miss Edith." Mr. Holly told her, halting at the chair that the Vicar occupied. "That, or this is the most ill kept borrowing room in the county. Don't know how many towels a single lady would require for a place with only a wash basin."

Edith looked to him. "What have you found?"

"A friend, of sorts. And, two kinds of enemies."

She took a bite of her scone, nodding for him to continue. "The friend is Mr. Lushton. He has a strong abhorrence towards injustice. But, as his sister married Mr. Vale, he is reluctant to speak out against the faction."

Edith nodded. "So, it is Mr. Vale conducting the group."

"No, Vale is merely one of the two enemies. The other is Mr. Eagerton. He will prove to be a more difficult rock to quarry." He strode to a satchel he had dropped off when he first came to check on Edith, partly hidden under the stairs. "He's tried to publish these rather unsavory bits in the local newspaper." He withdrew several papers that looked like advertisement drafts, and handed them to Edith. "I already spoke with the editor of the Cumberland Times and a Union leader for this regions' working men. If he went farther, I do not know. Doubt it, though. Manchester seemed eager to gain such pretty bricks as the ones from Crimson Peak so their morality will be," He leaned his head from side to side, "Negotiable."

Edith squinted as she skimmed the articles, noting discrepancies in grammar and spelling, but understanding the overall hate generated towards her husband. She turned one page and nearly dropped her scone. "The picture is a bit much."

"The editor thought so, too. That's what made it easier to… persuade him."

Edith glared at him, but swallowed and handed back the articles. "How dangerous is Mr. Eagerton?"

"He has the working man's ear. He is a pillar in the regional Worker's Union and can hinder the hiring process of general labour which will be needed regardless of how revolutionary Sir Sharpe's machine is."

"Can workers be found outside of a union?"

"Outside of a union, virtually impossible Miss Edith. But, manufacturers from Manchester could send hordes for exclusivity."

"Will that be possible with Mr. Vale's railroad?"

"Railroads are not private property, Miss Edith. Weigh stations and inspections officers, however, can be. But, that makes Mr. Vale the second enemy: the negotiable one."

"How so?"

"Oh, quite easy if enough pressure is applied. You see, here in Cumberland, industry depends on Manchester for its bread and butter, literally. Raw goes to manufacture, and manufacture feeds the raw. I did a little digging, and found that Mr. Vale's industry is moments from collapsing. He fell out of favor with Manchester and through several very public legal battles, lost what control he had over his stocks in the railways and some of the railways themselves."

Edith frowned, "I thought you said railroads weren't private?"

"They aren't. But, inspection stations are the lifeblood of the railway. If an inspection can hold up or eliminate an entire load of product, then a company can lose out on thousands. That is how many manufacturing companies in Manchester do business and how hum drum little men in the country can get very rich through bribery and favoritism."

She nodded, "Men like Mr. Vale."

"Exactly. He has one inspection station in Carlisle that Manchester is letting him keep. What they don't know, is that he has one here," He withdrew a map of the Cumberland countryside with spiked black lines strewn across it, "In Preston." He pointed to a city close to Manchester. "Now, Miss Edith, tell me how this particular inspection station is important."

"I don't have my glasses, sir. I could hardly decipher what Mr. Eagerton's articles said."

"Well, the town of Preston is located just above Liverpool, Manchester, and Leeds."

"Leads?"

"Yes, the rivalling city of Manchester. Equally productive, though not as popular. And Liverpool is, well, the world."

"Mr. Vale can divert valuable raw goods to one of three important cities and they don't even know it?"

"No." He scratched his neck, "I am still waiting on a source, but in my experience, Vale may just have several train conductors in his pocket that switch places whenever he receives a better offer. He is careful, though. Manchester, Leeds, and Liverpool would send an army of brigands to finish him off for control of that one station alone."

"That's our leverage, then." Edith commanded, handing him the map. "We will threaten Vale with one of these three cities to stop his persecution of Thomas and to allow us to pass through with the bricks once they're ready to ship."

"Speaking of those bricks," Mr. Holly narrowed his gaze at her, "All of this is for naught if there isn't a harvesting machine to produce."

"I came with an engineer who agreed to help repair Thomas's machine. He went for coal in the afternoon but has yet to return. Do you know what happened to him?"

"That I do, Miss Edith." Mr. Holly sighed, "He is at the Doctor's with a concussion. He won't be of any use for at least a week."

"A week?" Edith shrieked. "Thomas's trial is in two!"

"Then we have work to do, Miss Edith."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Village of Redsett

Alan's fist pounded on Edith's door, his voice calling out to her. Edith shook her head as she scampered to admit him lest he break the door down for a glimpse of her. His suit was disheveled, his hair askew, and his blue eyes wide as he nearly fell through the opening door.

"Are you alright?" He demanded, looking up at her as he composed himself.

Edith took in Alan's appearance. "What happened to you? Were you attacked?"

"I heard that there was a fire at Allerdale Hall and departed on the first available bus. Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine as you can see."

"Good." He exhaled, shoulders dropping, his bright eyes dimming. "Now, what on earth happened?"

"My news is obvious, what isn't is what happened to you?"

"I was frantic!" He blurted, striding about emitting a strong smell of spirits. "Mr. Holly sent me a telegram saying that something happened at Allerdale Hall, there was a great fire. Rumors are circling that you set it. Edith, are you mad?"

"Absolutely not! I set the house on fire because the ghosts would not depart from it. That includes the ghost of Lucille; She was trying to kill me again. I needed to do something, Alan!"

He stopped pacing, "So for that you set the house on fire?"

Edith looked at him, "Yes."

Alan blinked at her several times, "Please tell me that you have not told this to anyone."

"Only the Vicar and Mr. Holly."

"No one else?"

"No! I haven't seen anyone else." She did not like the way he looked at her with her insistence of ghosts.

"There is an article being composed in the Cumberland Times about the house's destruction and its relation to you and Thomas's trail. Thomas is furious, Mr. Copper tells me that he wants to speak with you immediately."

"How did he find out about it so quickly, it only happened the day before yesterday?"

"Reporters swarmed the jail, trying to talk to him or discern if he sent men to start the fire or if it was done in rebellion. Edith, he has been placed in solitary confinement for fighting."

"Thomas was fighting?" She yelped, "Is he hurt?"

"He's fine, only bumps and bruises. Apparently, he can hold his own for a man his size. But, he wishes to see you."

"I will see him when we get close to the trial. I cannot leave now. Who was he fighting with?"

"The warden says one of the guards stepped out of line and insulted you. At least send me back with a letter explaining why you burned down his family home."

"Yes, fine. What's happening in Carlisle? Have any of the EVIL lot advanced yet?"

He paused, "I am not certain, I caught the first bus here."

"Alright, well, Mr. Holly has made quite the discovery. He tells me that-"

"Edith, I have to confess something to you."

"Of the men trying to hurt Thomas, there are only two with a passion for it. Now, Mr. Eagerton we cannot likely move, but Mr. Vale is one that is negotiable-"

"Edith, did you hear me?"

"Yes, Alan, I did. Please refrain from saying that you love me, I cannot handle that at this moment. Now, Mr. Vale has made enemies in Manchester. Mr. Holly is busy finding out which of them is more likely to purchase Sharpe bricks and can also send men to harvest the clay from the machine. Mr. Applebee is out with a concussion which worries me because he might have to be replaced for a different engineer." She placed a hand to her forehead, "He was Thomas's friend, he is most likely to understand how Thomas's notes are written better than anyone else. Oh God! What if we cannot find anyone else?" She trailed off, looking into the abyss as her fingers stroked her forehead.

"Edith, I condemned Thomas to hang."

She snapped her eyes to look at Alan, "What?"

He swallowed and looked away, causing her stress to soar. "I told Mr. Bell, the Prosecution Attorney, something that Thomas told me but not you or his lawyer. I… I told him about Thomas's son."

Edith leaned back, confused. "Thomas's son is dead. He was malformed. Enola was charged with helping him, but he died."

"Yes, the baby died, but not… naturally."

Ice surged through Edith's body, her thoughts falling absolutely blank. "H-how do you know this, are you certain?"

"I have it in writing from Thomas himself. Remember when he wrote me asking me to care for you?" She nodded, too shocked to speak. "There is one line in that letter, just one line, Edith. Its where he confesses-"

"Stop!" She shouted, lifting her palms to him. "Don't… say… another word!"

"Edith, I have to tell you what he did to his-"

"No! You don't!" Her chest was tight, and her eyes saw red, "Thomas needs to tell me. Thomas, told me about the poison in my tea. Thomas, was telling me about Lucille and how dangerous she was. Thomas will tell me about his child, not. You!"

"Edith-"

"Why are you doing this?" She shrieked, "Why would you condemn him? Why would you do something like that?" He babbled something incoherent, apologies with no meaning.

Edith pushed him. "Why would you do this?" Tears darted forth, making her even more furious. "Why would you hurt me like this?"

"Because I want you!" He thundered, his frame rising with his fury. "I want to be first for a change, damn you!" His shoulders heaved as though stoking a flame to become a rampage. "I've cared for you longer than that bastard knew your name! I came for you without any regard to my profession or my own family when I thought you to be in danger! I've stayed longer than I should have for you! I'm still here for you! I, love, you!"

"Haven't I thanked you for it?" She spat, "Haven't I told you that I am grateful for your concern? Haven't I made it clear that I will always, always, choose someone else?"

Alan stared at her, his gorgeous blue eyes glittering on the verge of tears. She had wounded him where he was most vulnerable. "He is going to die for what he did to that little boy."

Touché. Edith felt her heart bleed at his words. He was right, and they both knew it. "Get out." She couldn't remember herself saying the words, only hearing them. "Go back to Buffalo."

He swallowed, pooling tears flooding over. "You know I'm not going to."

"I don't care." She breathed, "Get out."

Alan nodded, then turned his heel and strode out of her room, closing the door with a good yank.

Edith stood in the middle of her hotel room, eyes streaming words liquefied. She could still gather her resources to make an industry of her charred mines and Thomas's machine. She could lay down a new legacy for her child herself. She could do it without her husband. She could do it by herself. Alone… The furniture around her rushed to the ceiling, and the embracing floor became black.

AHAHAH

Edith awoke to a knock on her door, several knocks, in fact. She stirred, her head aching, realizing that she was still on the floor from where she had fainted the night before. Her door opened, and the fluttering of skirts engulfed her, the faces of two maids coming to her aid. "Are you all right, Miss? Are you hurt?"

She blinked, then smelled the overwhelming odor of rock salt being shoved under her nose. She coughed, leaning back to avoid the smell. "Th-ack! Thank you, I'm fine."

"Shall we call for the doctor, Miss?"

From the depths of her mind, Edith remembered her saying, "Thomas, this is Dr. Alan McMichael, the best man in town if you're feeling poorly." She shook her head, asking for help to stand instead.

"Can you tell us what happened, Miss? We heard shouting, then the gentlemen left. When we didn't see you in several hours, we became worried."

Edith stood, immediately feeling pains in her lower body. She doubled over, just as Mr. Holly walked through the door. "Lady Sharpe, are you well?"

"I'm fine!" She declared, though her body did not follow her words. "At least I will be in a few moments."

"We have reservations for dinner tomorrow night, Lady Sharpe."

She straightened, willing herself to heal. "What time is it? What day, is it?"

"It's Tuesday, Lady Sharpe." A maid with worried brown eyes told her, "The time is almost four o'clock. We haven't heard from you since Dr. McMichael left at around ten this morning."

Edith nodded and looked at Mr. Holly, "Dinner reservations? Where?"

"At a dinner party tomorrow night, held at the home of Mr. Canavan Vale."

She nodded, "Send confirmation, please."

"Of course, Lady Sharpe." He watched the maids as they changed her morning bedsheets. "Is there anything else, I can get for you?"

Edith looked back to the maids, sending them into an even faster straightening frenzy. She crossed the floor, her middle still tender, and took Thomas's cylinder case. "Arrange a horse for me, please."

AHAHAH

When Edith saw her mother's ghost as a child, she feared going to bed by herself. Her father would try to read to her the storybooks her mother would in her life, but still she clung to him when he unceremoniously finished and stood to give her her goodnight kiss. To give her more comfort, Mr. Cushing would bring to her engineering plans and proposals, showing them to her and explaining the unfamiliar jargon until she fell asleep. For weeks, he did this until Edith found enough courage to sleep alone, without his long, dull explanations. But, it would be decades before she ever forgot what he had taught her.

Edith had not looked over the blueprints and notebook that Thomas had given her since her first glance at them over the shoulders of the members of the proposition board when she first met him. Unravelling those blueprints on the charred grass of Allerdale Hall land before the skeletal structure that was her husband's dream, made her smile, and giddy with butterflies as though she were watching him give his presentation again. The white lines against the blue graphing paper labelled by Thomas's neat scrawl was like seeing him in a moment of inspiration. Hearing him speak of his dreams and feeling that sense of longing, that yearning to turn cold steel into hard profit. It was almost like Thomas was a ghost himself, watching Edith and guiding her in silence.

She shook her head, forcing herself to come to reality. He was alive, and he needed her. She looked to his captions of the various parts of the machine, particularly around the valve controller, and found nothing. She frowned, then grabbed the cylinder and dumped out its contents, dropping an older notebook with bubbled leather from immense heat, and a newer, finer notebook of lamb leather binding and the initials T.S. engraved in gold. Edith took this one and skimmed through it, finding warmth in Thomas's notes on several other projects in the first few pages, then dedicating the rest of the notebook to the harvesting machine.

On the last five pages, Edith found Thomas's last entry. She skimmed through them, pausing several places to remember her engineering vocabulary, then stopped dead at one particular line:

 _Valve controller broken. Glass smashed and bobbin dislodged. Must replace else pressure from coal will be too strong._

Edith looked to the blueprints, then to the machine. Gathering her skirts, she jumped up and ran to the machine, scanning the bottom machinery first, then moving around to the coal box where, just above it, was the brass valve controller that Thomas had shown her when they went to pick it up at the Postal Depot months ago. The glass, likely not used to open exposure in wintery conditions compared to factory enclosure, had indeed burst and the bobbin that kept track of the pressure was lost to the moors.

She moved back to her planning spot, picking up Thomas's notebook and finished reading his notes. That one blasted valve determined everything! Without a way to gauge the pressure from the steam influx, she wouldn't know how much to let in or release to prevent total collapse. Quickly, Edith checked the chain that Thomas had noted needed replacing and sighed, it would have to do with the strain of one more test. Heavily, she flipped back through the pages, finding one specific section when Thomas realized he needed to control the pressure from the coal and began to format one for this machine. It had specific measurements, specific requirements, fitted like a lady's glove. Thomas then went off making a humorous allusion to something called Bouteille Buttle before concluding for that day.

Edith flipped back a few more pages, noting that the machine did, in fact, work without the valve controller, just not for long and had more ability to warp and abuse other parts of the machine that would require adjustment, and even total replacement. Thomas noted that if certain people filled the coal box, they would either under fill or over fill, thus likely making or breaking the progress of the day. Thomas wrote:

 _"_ _The coal should always be filled until just under the handle, allowing more steam to rise from the rocks for long enough to complete a test run, or even longer if all goes well."_

Edith opened the coal box, immediately wishing that Thomas had made a smaller, less filled box. She looked back to her horse as it grazed on the budding moor. She had purchased one bag of coal that the store owner had kindly tied to the saddle for her; a bag big enough for only one test run. Had it not been so dirty, she could have crawled into it and cried over her predicament, but she swallowed her tears and looked back to her land.

Allerdale Hall had burned completely, leaving a heap of remains of mostly stone and iron. The vast stone fireplace that had been engraved with the words, "Ad montes oculous levavi," remained, as did the stone mosaic entrance, but the library, the parlor and her bedroom were gone. Edith ducked under the charred beams, smiling that the wretched floors that betrayed the muddy foundation were still there, too soaked to burn but created a hard clay tiling that made her heels resound throughout the emptiness like bells. The remnants of the scullery, the porcelain sink, the stone fireplace, and the various iron instruments were there, but her oolong tea had burned. Edith stepped gingerly, but flinched back when she heard the breaking of pottery underfoot. The black china Cloisonné set lay in ruins at her feet, the red poppy design faintly visible. She looked around some more, seeing charred bottles of glass in a wooden box that had not entirely been consumed and sighed. For all the horror of Allerdale Hall, she was sad to see it in such ruin with only stone, iron, and some bottles to carry on it's name…

Edith turned back to the glass bottles, rushing to them with furrowed brows. The heat was terrible, that she knew. She could feel it clearly when she neared the iron gates at the edge of the property, even in her daze. So how could such bottles survive the heat without breaking? She took out a bottle, feeling it's body for a manufacturing date. 1896, fairly new. She pulled out another, 1900. These were regular bottles, nothing spectacular to them except that they had survived immense heat. Edith pulled out bottle after bottle before she realized that they were not red like she had originally seen, they were clear. The lining of the crate was red from clay lining the inside.

Quickly, Edith emptied the crate, tipping out the bottles so that they clinked with music and picked up the crate, seeing child-like drawings on the inside as though the crate had once been used as a doll theatre, the words "L'Opera Paris" written on the non-burned side. Edith looked at it, wondering if this was one of the ways that Thomas kept Lucille entertained when they were confined to the nursery. Suddenly, Edith grabbed two of the bottles and the crate, rushing out to her planning spot and grabbed the bubbled notebook where Thomas wrote his original ideas as a child, further fueling his desire to become an engineer.

The pages were filled with a developing scrawl, ranging from big, clumsy cursive letters, to more slanted, practiced words. The pictures too, were developmental, starting with basic drawings of cogs to full page drawings of his various toys. Including one that Lucille made for him named Bouteille Buttle, a mime trying to be an opera star L'Opera Paris. Thomas wrote that their father, out of sheer meanness, dropped a thin candle into Lucille's original "Mr. Buttle" and made it shatter from the heat, hurting her. Thomas then wrote:

 _"_ _I took Mr. Buttle outside to bury him while Lucille looked on, crying. As I buried him, I watched as the clay ran up and covered the glass, making me wonder what would happen if Mr. Buttle had a twin who spent time with the red Indians from America and returned to Paris because he too wanted to sing. I took a bottle from the scullery and coated it in clay, smearing eyes, a nose, and a mouth, and baked the clay with matches dropped into the top. The resulting Mr. Buttle is now firm and unbreakable, ready for his debut."_

Edith looked from the notebook to her bottles. Could she make her own valve controller with a bottle? The essential function was there, she just needed a bobbin to tell her when to release pressure, according to Thomas. Uncertain, but willing to try, Edith took the bottles and measured them to the broken controller valve. Carefully, Edith withdrew a cotton handkerchief from her pocked and picked and beat against the broken glass to clear a space for the bottles, doing her best to not cut herself. One of the bottles fit perfectly, mouth opened downward to take in steam. Edith looked at it, realizing that the bobbin needed would have to be the perfect weight to float when needed, but not ping the top of the bottle at the slightest wind.

Edith took the bottle and walked back into the house, finding enough loose wood floor planks to pry with her fingers that could burn and coated one side of the bottle with crimson clay. As she did so, she looked around at the desolate landscape. Where could she find a bobbin that could accurately tell the pressure of the steam? She looked around, setting the bottle down in the clay. She had the keys to this pile of ashes, some of them not too heavy. Perhaps one of them would work? Praying endlessly that by pulling the bag of coal to the coal box would not cause any further damage to her baby, Edith filled it with the coal needed to start the process, saving some for the ovens to bake the bricks.

Three strikes of flint rocks started a fire, sending Edith flying back to the blueprints to read what she thought would come next, then flew back to the control panel. A board of switches lay before her, stunning her for a moment. They looked like crab claws, ready to bite the moment she touched them. She inhaled, then threw the first latch that looked like the one Thomas had labeled "Pressure release" on the blueprints. She knew that there wasn't enough steam in the pipes to do anything, giving her enough time to take her wet bottle from the house back out to the machine and drop a small brass key labelled "Enola" into it from her key ring and set the bottle inside.

While she waited for the steam to rise, she read the pages where Thomas had attempted full scale tests of the machine. He had been successful, but the winter had come, halting production. It should not be difficult from here, Edith thought, looking at the pressure valve. Suddenly, she pulled back the pressure release switch, remembering something. The bobbin needed both ends to be open to float, the body around it serving merely a tool for keeping the bobbin contained. Edith grabbed the muddy bottle, sending the key clinking to one side, and ran down to the tool box. Grabbing an axe, she could hear the pressure begin to mount inside the coal box in the form of short exhales, almost snorts, and knew that if she could not get this control to work, she risked destroying her future. She lifted the axe and brought it down in a manner that she hoped would not shatter the bottle.

It did. Edith cried out as Enola's key was freed in three generous places, the sound muted by the surrounding wet clay. Edith thrust the broken glass and the axe away with an exasperated, "Ugh!" She looked to it, uncertain if it had enough pressure to move the digging buckets or just sit there steaming. Edith jumped up, grabbed the bottle that fit second best, and ran back into the house, coating the whole thing in red clay. "If it's too much pressure," She spat, "The key will click and tell me. But it needs to breathe." She ran back to machine, dripping bottle in hand, opened the coal box to reveal a roaring fire, and nestled the bottle onto it, hoping that it was hot enough to bake quickly.

Having done that, Edith ran up to the control panel and threw the pressure switch, prompting the machine to breathe staggered breaths. Edith shrieked a laugh, looking to the panel and grabbing a long handle that she recognized as the crane drop and lowered it, digging up the ground cover that had been made over the winter with the first three buckets, then picking up varying levels of dripping red clay, ranging from tainted with dirt, to pure and ready-for-baking ore. In one moment, Edith understood Thomas's dreams of the future. It would have taken men at least a good morning to get through the top layer of earth on a site that had not been started, and sifting through the ore to find the best quality clay would have taken a team. Edith had at least four buckets of ore ready to fill molds and bake, something she could do in the next couple of minutes. She could imagine Thomas here at his post, watching his sister and his wife through the windows of the once towering house, dreaming of giving them a palace, finally living in riches rather than ruin.

Edith ran back down to the coal box and opened the door, removing with her handkerchief a partially baked bottle. "Please, God, let this work." Edith breathed, returning to her axe, "Please, don't let it shatter! Please, God, let it work." Two strikes and the bottle's bottom broke away in a piece that Edith could work with. Excited, she dropped Enola's key into it and ran back to the control panel, shoving the bottle into place.

A rush of searing hot steam coated her hand, nearly dropping the bottle with her screams of agony. Pressure had indeed been building, a working valve controller would have told her that. Biting her handkerchief, Edith thrust the bottle into place, knowing at once that she needed to fiddle with the controls to fix the pressure distribution. Desperately, she turned a wheel that opened a chimney and released a stream of white smoke. Edith descended the control panel and dumped out the first bucket of dirty ore with the help of a trapdoor and lever, panicking when she felt how heavy they were. There was no way that she could lift many more of these, let alone pour the ore into molds and then carry them to the ovens to bake.

Speaking of that, she hurried over to the nearest oven, and opened the coal box. Empty, again. She dropped her chin, rubbing her forehead. She did not want to use up all of the coal when she could use it for more mining. She exhaled and closed the box, then walked to the side of this oven just to be certain that there weren't any remnants of coal. What she spotted was a stack of partly blended peat moss. Grabbing handfuls of the thick, hairy moss, Edith loaded the oven and set it ablaze, taking the brick mold out to fill. There was no possible way for her to fill the molds as had been designed by Thomas by herself in her condition. So, going back into the scullery, Edith took the burned metal tea kettle and made a dozen trips back and forth filling the molds with repulsive clay tea. As Edith pushed the first mold into the oven, the breathing harvest machine sputtered and slowed to a stop, the result of a lack of fuel.

Edith mounted the control panel, and turned off every switch. "It works, Thomas." She breathed, sliding to take a seat on the cool platform. "You're a genius." Slowly, she laid down, her sweating forehead grateful for the break. "We did it."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Village of Redsett

Edith slid her feet into the hotel, her body dying for a drink of water. The morning maids, yawning and watching the progression of the dawn, stopped when they saw her, gasping at her red clay hands. "Lady Sharpe?" She turned, seeing Mr. Mason follow her up the stairs. "Lady Sharpe, is everything alright?"

She smiled, feeling like the motion aged her a decade. "Yes, Mr. Mason. I just need a warm bath." When did he get into the hotel, She thought.

"What happened to you? Were you harmed?"

She shook her head. "Thomas's machine," She gestured to the cylinder on her back, "It works! It's revolutionary! I was making bricks all night, it works!" She touched her hair, feeling a searing pain shoot through it. "I think I need water."

"Where is your room, Lady Sharpe?" Mr. Mason asked, coming close to her.

"Twelve." She breathed, her world losing its focus.

"Alright, then." In one move, he picked her up and carried her through the corridor to her room, a maid scrambling to open the door. Mr. Mason placed her on the bed, demanding a pitcher of water to be brought forth, he himself helping her drink. "Fetch the Doctor." He commanded.

"I… don't, need a doctor." Edith breathed, realizing that she wasn't helping her case by protesting.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

AHAHAH

Edith awoke to the shaking of her shoulder, not realizing that she had fallen asleep. "Edith, Edith wake up."

Alan's bright blue eyes were even wider with his face inches from hers. "Edith, can you hear me?"

She swallowed, still wanting water, but not nearly as much as earlier. "Alan?"

"Edith, we're taking you to Carlisle. If you feel jostling, it is the ambulance taking you."

"The machine!" She whispered, "The bricks, the meeting with Mr. Vale!"

"Do not worry about any of that, it has all been taken care of."

"No! There's still more to be done! I need to finish!"

"Edith, I tracked down Mr. Finlay. He has agreed to help harvest the clay ore and produce bricks. Mr. Holly is meeting with a buyer in Leeds tomorrow, he has agreed to act as your manager for the time being. It is all taken care of." He cupped her cheek, and dropped his voice, "Now let me take care of you."

She looked at him, feeling his warmth ebb through his arm to her body. "The machine… works. He's a genius."

"Thomas will be glad to hear it," He smiled, drawing her cloak around her front. "Let's take you to him, now."

AHAHAH

Carlisle City, Cumberland

Alan watched as a nurse changed Edith's IV bottles. She was severely dehydrated and exhausted beyond what Alan had ever seen. The moment he saw her in her hotel room, he knew that she needed to be hospitalized. Thanks to Mr. Holly's diligence, they were able to make arrangements to cover Edith's progress so that she might have complete bedrest. Alan had arranged for her to be moved to Carlisle City because he knew that she needed only one person to make her to stop.

He looked down the hall, feeling his chest tighten as he heard the clinking of shackles coming forth. Sharpe was escorted in by two guards on either flank, his wrists bound by iron chains that dangled in front of him as he moved. It took Alan nearly two hundred pounds to bribe the warden for one hour, but it was worth it. Disgust furrowed Alan's brow, fueling a blaze that flowed down to his core at the sight of Sharpe coming forward, knowing that all the medicine in the world was useless to a mere five minutes of his presence.

They made eye contact from opposite ends of the hall, a duel. Alan pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against and left Edith's sleeping frame for this monster. Immediately, the guards halted, allowing Sharpe two steps away from them. He had shaven, but his hair had grown longer, wilder. Sharpe had always been mysterious, but with an air of sensitivity that made him more approachable than his sister. That sensitivity had gone, or at least had been put away for the callousness needed to survive prison. Alan came close enough to Sharpe so that if he wanted to, he could punch his pretty, porcelain face. "Sir Thomas," He hissed.

Sharpe cocked an eyebrow, feeding on Alan's hatred like it was ice cream. "Doctor. How is she?"

"She is showing symptoms of toxemia, a result of exhaustion and anxiety. She needs complete bedrest, with movement restricted to once for blood circulation. Anything else can kill her."

"I thought she was in your care?"

Alan swallowed back his response. "She ran off to Allerdale Hall, presumably to finish your wretched machine."

He leaned back, "My machine is finished. All it needed was to replace a valve controller and a chain, then for men to collect and bake the clay."

"Edith decided to do all of that by herself in one night."

"What?" He shouted, making the guards flinch forward. "You told me you would take care of her!"

"Yes, like you when you weren't screwing your sister?"

Sharpe's fist shot out and soared into Alan's jaw, knocking him off his feet. "You swore!" He screamed as the guards struggled to gain control of him, "You swore you would care for her better than I ever could!"

"Thomas?"

Everything fell silent, even the guards' grunts to contain their prisoner.

"Thomas!"

A nurse came skirting out of Edith's room, "She's heard him, she'll be wanting to get out of bed to see him."

Alan, holding his throbbing jaw, stood and looked to the guards. "Remove his restraints, he won't do anything with her." He stared Sharpe in the eye, "You have my word on that."

Sharpe hesitated before turning to the guard on his left. He knew that bribery of some sort was in effect, and that was Alan's hold on him. Sharpe didn't know what would happen to him if he misbehaved outside of where he was supposed to be. Slowly, Sharpe entered Edith's room, his eyes not wanting to believe the sight of his golden wife lying in a hospital bed, half dead because of him.

"Edith?" He breathed, making Alan's chest even clamp even tighter. "You've fattened since I last held you."

Alan peeked around the corner while the guards looked at each other, hiding their smiles. To their shock, Edith laughed, rubbing her belly. "I feel like a dirigible!"

Sharpe glided to her, dazed by her girth. "You look more beautiful now than you did on our wedding day." He sat at the edge of her bed and took her hands.

Edith's hair was plaited into a braid, her skin almost as pale as the sheets that surrounded her. Sharpe laid his hand on her stomach, her little belly that, though small, was big enough to prove that she was pregnant. Edith covered his hand with hers, showing him the lengths of her exhaustion with the slow motion. "I didn't think I would see you before the trial."

He smiled, his eyes glittering in the sunlight. "You know my fascination with ghosts, my darling. I had to come and see one that looked like my wife."

She smiled sheepishly, knowing that she was going to be scolded. "Your machine works, Thomas. Just like you dreamed it would. I made bricks, over one hundred of them. I made them in one night, all by myself!"

"Did you, really?" He leaned forward, his face excited. Alan wanted to smack him with a bedpan.

"Yes! I-I found your first notebook. The one you made when you were a boy. I found Bouteille Buttle. That's how I made my own valve meter, I used that story to do it."

Sharpe leaned back. "Bouteille Buttle? Edith, why didn't you use the second pressure valve? There were two, in case the first one broke."

"Two?" She gasped.

"Yes, I brought it with me back from Allerdale Hall before I was arrested. Why didn't an engineer replace it so that we could order a new glass?"

Edith stared at him, her face a picture of misery. "I… don't remember. Alan… he unpacked all of our belongings into the hotel."

Sharpe turned back to Alan, his eyes saying clearly, I'm going to kill you. "You made yourself a pressure meter using my old notes?" He turned back to her.

"Yes," The word seemed to age her. "You didn't follow Lucille for nothing, Thomas. You are a genius, and your machine is proving it."

"Oh, Edith! You have no idea how happy that makes me!" He leaned over her and scooped her up, pressing her to his chest though her arms were too limp to reciprocate. "We did it, my love!" He kissed her, "My wife! An engineer!" He kissed her again.

He held her in a cradle, kissing her face over and over again. Edith, too exhausted to kiss back, simply smiled feeling his love. Alan watched them, the needle in his heart turning into a serrated knife. As much as he wanted Edith for himself, he could not deny the fact that Sir Thomas Sharpe was her legal husband, one whom she chose. One whom she was killing herself for.

"Oh, my darling!" Sharpe whispered, peering down at her with a grin. "I love you so much!"

"I love you t-" She stopped, gasping loudly.

Alan was halfway to her when Sharpe looked down to her belly, eyes wide. "What was that?"

"I don't know!" She fumbled with her bedsheets, rubbing her stomach. "There it is again!" Sharpe pressed his hands to her nightgown, leaning back. "Thomas!"

"It's moving!" He cried, grin wide.

"Thomas!" Edith yelped, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Thomas, our baby is alive!"

They marveled at her bulge, narrating the movement by laughing and crying whenever the baking bump fluttered. For nearly twenty minutes, Alan watched, frozen in his position and watching them, unable to even think. When the baby finally stopped, Sharpe kissed his wife and laid her back onto the hospital pillows, curling up next to her, hand sliding into hers as it rested on their baby. "You have to protect it, Edith."

"I know." She breathed, leaning her head towards him.

"You must give up the machine, for now."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," He wormed his arm under her neck to bring her closer. "If your father could step back and manage from a desk, so can you." Edith was silent, accepting his kisses on her forehead. "There are so many people willing to aid you, my love. Let them."

Alan inched backwards out of the room.

"What about the trial?"

"Mr. Copper and I are taking care of that. But, it will be making his job harder if rumours are spreading that my wife has gone mad because of a ghost machine."

"Is that why you got into a fight?"

Sharpe exhaled, "Yes. They said vile things about you that I could not accept."

"Thank you," She whispered. "But no fighting."

"Thank you for repairing and making my machine work." He kissed her temple, "But rest. Rest for me, for our baby. We need you, Edith."

She was silent for a long time, making Alan wonder if she had fallen asleep. Sharpe kept whispering to her, words that Alan could not interpret. Whatever they were, Edith eventually sighed and looked up to him. "I will rest so that I might be ready to see you at the trial."

Alan couldn't hear them, but he saw his rival mouth the words, "Thank you, my love," before kissing her passionately.

AHAHAH

Edith was diligent in moving only once a day during her three day stay at the hospital in Carlisle. When she was moved to Alan's rented home, she was pushed there by wheelchair and lifted in by orderlies. For every cup of tea, she drank two glasses of water, and ate healthy meals prepared for her by a live-in nursemaid. Alan was hired by the hospital as an ophthalmologist, providing Edith with every luxury that she needed, including lunch breaks two hours long at their home. Each day, he came bounding in with a wide grin, overflowing with details of his day while Edith pretended to listen.

She slept mostly, regaining what energy she had lost during her two-day work marathon in Redsett. For the life of her, she could not remember days and hours, or match events to those days and hours. All she knew was that she accomplished what her husband yearned to do and his sister had turned into a nightmare. As she wheeled herself around the first floor of the house, (Alan had ceremoniously moved upstairs to give her her privacy), Edith tried to ignore the remaining days until Thomas's trial. She had received a telegram from Mr. Finlay saying that the replacement valve controller had been installed and that they were churning out bricks left and right, but nothing yet from Mr. Holly and his potential buyer in Leeds. Edith would have loved to discuss her concerns about this delay with Alan, but knew that he would patronize her, saying that she needed to go to bed and rest, think of all of this later. For days, Edith smiled, slept, and gave minimal responses. For days, Edith remembered being trapped in Allerdale Hall, unable to talk to anyone, unable to go out to the world she saw outside the parlor window. For days, Edith forced herself to remember that she was not in that wretched, dying house any more.

Then, four days before the trial, Mr. Holly arrived at the front door. Alan had gone back to work after lunch and Edith was wheeling herself to the parlor to finish reading a book when the doorbell rang, calling the nursemaid from the dining room table to the door. Immediately, Edith welcomed him, commanding the nursemaid to assemble a tea tray for the sake of privacy and to avoid her nose over her shoulder for a moment more. "What have you found?"

Mr. Holly chuckled, "They are running scared, Miss Edith." He withdrew a leather-bound folder, "First, your business. The Victoria University at Yorkshire College is expanding their main campus and is looking to continue their red brick motif."

Edith pulled from her pocket a new pair of glasses that Alan fitted for her, and scanned the documents. "They want half a crown per pound? Not bad."

"There's more to come, Miss Edith. I was speaking with the Sheriff in Redsett. He and several other sheriffs want to establish a jail around the lakes. Create their own penal district. That would also create cheap labor in terms of prison hard labor gangs building the jail. A contract could be drawn up to have the men make your bricks, get your name out there even more, Miss Edith."

She nodded, "I'll keep that in mind." She closed the folder, "How is our friend Mr. Vale?"

"Frightened, as is everyone in that faction."

"Please, elaborate!"

"Oh, I did, when I told Leeds about Mr. Vale's junction friends. They offered a vast reward for particulars. That reward can be cashed into building projects, or money, whichever suits your fancy." The nursemaid entered with a tray of tea and piping hot scones. Mr. Holly immediately helped himself to a cup of tea. "Mr. Vale came to me personally, begging me on the heads of his children to not disclose that information."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said that that is not in my authority. You are the dame to be pleased."

Edith smiled, taking up a cup of tea. "I believe I cancelled a dinner meeting with Mr. Vale in Redsett. It would be rude not to make amends."

Mr. Holly took a seat, "It would indeed, Miss Edith. I should also mention, Mr. Eagerton is still threatening to turn the working men of Carlisle against you."

"Why should I be worried if I have hard laborers from prisons to work for me?"

He sipped his tea, smiling. "You live up to your maiden name, Miss Edith. Oh, and Mr. Lushton would like to discuss a contract with you. The grass on Crimson Peak has been untamed for some time, particularly his mother's former pasture lands. If you proceed with using hard laborers from the prisons, he will all but knit you a cloak himself from his flocks."

"You spoke with him as well?"

"I have continually spoken with him, Miss Edith. Since our first correspondence, he has been most eager to evade the overbearing oaf that is his brother-in-law Mr. Vale."

"Do the others know?"

"I doubt it, Miss Edith. They would tear each other to bits."

"I dislike lies and secrets." She sipped her tea, "We should tell them our good news."

AHAHAH

Alan did not like in the slightest that Edith was conducting business while still in her wheelchair. But, given that the alternative was either confining her like a prisoner to her room, or watching as Mr. Holly wheeled her to a restaurant, Alan had no choice but to go along and let her invite them to dinner at his house. A ten-pound lamb roast was purchased, along with a crate of potatoes and vegetables, and several bottles of good madeira. A portion of Edith's funds had come in from America, (along with a rather angry letter from Mrs. McMichael that he promptly ignored) and Edith purchased a new white tablecloth and a set of good, blue and white delft china.

"What are you going to do with these things when the dinner is over?" Alan asked, turning to Edith as she surveyed the organizing chaos. "These plates are rather fine."

She looked up to him, "I'm going to keep them for Thomas's and my new house, wherever that might be. Or sell them, or give them to you to entertain your doctor colleagues, it all depends." She knew he was thinking she had forgotten about his mention to Mr. Bell, the Prosecution Attorney. She had not, she was just trying a different, more difficult route to save Thomas. In two days, her husband would fight for his life and she would be there to help him.

A boy dressed in the uniform of a postal worker knocked on the open front door, "Delivery for Lady Edith Sharpe?"

Edith grinned, "That's me," She positioned her wheelchair to face him. "Alan, would you take the parcel, please? It's from Allerdale Hall."

He agreed, taking help from the boy to pick up a wooden crate and stagger it in to the living room. "What's in it, if you don't mind my asking?" The boy huffed, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Bricks!" Edith beamed, wheeling herself to the crate. "Freshly made bricks from Allerdale Hall."

Alan slid open the lid, making them gasp at the beautiful crimson slabs nestled inside. "These are so much prettier than mine!" Edith gasped, taking one that Alan held out to her.

"Probably because these are made from refined ore from the clay vats in the mine rather than raw surface." Alan chuckled. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Missy?" Edith called, summoning her nursemaid. "Please use these bricks as the centerpiece for the dinner tonight. I want everyone to see them." She handed her the smooth brick.

Missy looked at her, then at the bricks before replying, "Yes, Lady Sharpe."

When the men came, Edith was watching from her post in the parlor. They came alone, their wives sending their apologies. Edith and Alan, bred in strict manners and social customs, knew that their absence signaled that this was going to be a dogfight under the pretense of custom. Edith was ready, and Mr. Holly was armed, just in case. Mr. Vale came first, dropped off by horse and carriage, nearly running up the front steps of Alan's home while looking around frantically. "Well, he's certainly excited." Alan smiled, descending the stairs.

"Maybe it's the coming rain." Edith grinned, wheeling herself to the position of welcome beside Alan. She wore a new dress cut in what was deemed "London latest"; a fine red satin gown sewn with gold roses about the skirt, beads illuminating her breasts in the candlelight. Missy had pinned Edith's hair in an elegant upstyle and inserted small rose pins to form a simple tiara. Gold gloves completed the ensemble, along with Edith's smug grin, knowing that at least in this round, she couldn't lose.

Mr. Vale was welcomed in, his brown plaid night cloak taken from him to reveal a thicker set man with a set of moustaches, balding brown hair, and hazel eyes. From the tailoring of his suit, Edith could tell that he was significantly well off, but coming close to ruin by the way he clicked open his pocket watch and snapped it shut with a grunt, as though it had not been recently fixed by a jeweler. "Mr. Vale," Alan called, walking to him slowly, "Welcome."

"Doctor McMichael, I must speak with you before the others come. Mr. Holly is being most unreasonable."

"Mr. Vale, I'm afraid-"

"No one can know of my enterprise with the station in Preston. I've already seen some rather unbecoming characters following me."

"Mr. Vale, I presume." Both turned to Edith in her wheelchair. "Lady Edith Sharpe, I've heard so much about you." She held out her hand.

Mr. Vale shot a quick look to Alan before shaking Edith's hand. "A pleasure, Lady Sharpe."

"I'm so sorry I missed our previous meeting, I," She rubbed her stomach, "I was taken ill."

"According to rumor, Lady Sharpe, you found enough strength to find yourself to Allerdale Hall and back again. Tell me, how did a little lady like yourself manage that?"

Edith smirked, "This little lady can ride a horse."

Alan suppressed a laugh while Mr. Vale shifted uncomfortably, "Well, ah, yes, but what I meant was, how were you able to work? We've heard that you single handedly made over one hundred bricks in one night."

"My husband is an inventor. His machine did all the work, I just moved it along. Although," She touched the wheelchair, "It didn't come without it's consequences."

"I imagine your embroidery must have suffered greatly," Mr. Vale chuckled.

Edith smiled, "As has your station in Preston? Leeds was very intrigued to hear that they lost such a pivotal territory."

The color in Mr. Vale's face drained almost like a leak in a bucket. "I beg your pardon?"

She leaned back, savoring his plight. "Who do you think hired the man to gather such intelligence? It appears to me, that you are stretched tighter than fabric in an embroidery hoop, Mr. Vale. Your stocks have fallen, you're a moment from bankruptcy, and your excommunication from Manchester has you already on the coals." She wheeled herself close to him and breathed, "I think you should stay for dessert. That is if you can stomach dinner."

"I suppose you want your husband's neck from stretching?" He spat, stepping back.

The doorbell rang, sending Missy scurrying. "What do you think?" Edith hissed.

Alan leaned to her, "Mr. Lushton, Edith."

The both turned to see a stocky man in decent trousers, a starched white shirt, and vest come in. His hair was as black as his eyes, but once he saw Mr. Vale, those eyes blazed to almost vessel bursting. "Canavan!"

"Don't come at me, John!"

Edith wheeled away just in time to see Mr. Lushton rush to his brother-in-law and punch him square in the jaw. "What I tell you 'bout taakin' care of me sister?" He demanded.

"I haven't touched her in weeks!"

"Told you I'd brek your arm if I sawer with another red faace!"

Alan and Mr. Holly jumped between the men, pulling them apart. "Enough! Gentlemen!" They stood, partitioned, but still glaring at each other. Finally, Mr. Lushton turned to Edith, "Lady Shahpe, good to finally put a faace to a name coated with reputaation."

Edith dipped her head, her stomach mimicking her heart in its kicking. "Mr. Lushton." She touched her stomach in an attempt to stem the movement.

"Little one tappin' away, eh? Magical moment, ma'am."

"I don't want to get used to it, to be honest." Edith smiled.

"You're already a good mother, Lady Shahpe. Far better than 'er, the witch that were your mother-in-law."

"You knew Lady Beatrice?"

"Aye, it were her that ran me family out. I used to play with Thomas as a boy. Sir James wanted him to know male companionship, so he let me. Lady Beatrice thought me Mam were her husband's mistress. Hated us all for it. I loved your husband as a brother, but I were glad to leave that witch in the window."

"I am grateful, Mr. Lushton." She hesitated, then added, "I also accept your proposal, I would like to work out the particulars later if you have the time."

"Proposal, what proposal?" Mr. Vale demanded, still holding his jaw.

"Mr. Lushton and I will be going into business together, Mr. Vale. That is all that we know for certain at this moment."

"Lambs back on Crimson Peak?" Mr. Vale scoffed, "Fred will lose his temper and withdraw his men from your meat mill."

Edith touched Mr. Lushton's arm when he looked worried, "I am in discussion with wardens from various prisons to work under contract for me. I'd be happy to recommend them to you, Mr. Lushton."

Mr. Vale turned swiftly to Edith. "You've managed it, the prisoner's contract?"

"Yes, and we will be making bricks at half a crown per pound." The men looked at each other, their business wheels turning. "Of course, it could go faster with a second machine. But that would need investing."

"You have it here, Lady Sharpe." Mr. Lushton barked, coming forward to shake hands with Edith.

"Wait, one moment!" Mr. Vale interjected, stepping in front of him with a glare before looking down at Edith. "I would like to invest double of what he's putting in." He jerked his head to his brother-in-law.

"Can you affohd to?"

"Gentlemen," Edith suppressed a laugh, "Might I point out that neither of you knows how much one of these machines cost? Or how they will in fact mine once the second machine is built?" They looked to each other, realizing that a woman whom they just met was asking the basic business questions that they were supposed to.

"Mr. Frederick Eagerton."

The men froze as though they had been struck by lightning. Mr. Eagerton was what Edith would have described as a boxer, a man who made his living by working hard labor in the day, and earned extra at night bludgeoning people to a pulp. He was as tall as she was, bald, with blue eyes half closed, and clothes that were neat enough to pass muster. Immediately, Mr. Holly straightened, eyes glued upon this man as one would look upon a wild bear nearing a campsite with children.

Mr. Eagerton looked to the two men and smirked, "I see the children are already clamoring for mummy's attention." He shook hands with Alan and nodded to Edith. "Irwin couldn't make it, migraine's hit again."

Mr. Vale turned back to Edith, "It's been happening more frequently since his accident last month, Lady Sharpe. No offense is meant by it."

"You're the Cleopatra, eh?" Mr. Eagerton spat, striding close to her. "The one who's going to open up the slave pits again, eh?" Mr. Holly moved to stand behind Edith, showing a glint of his pistol. "That's why the land is red, all the blood of those who worked it for the Sharpes."

Edith lifted her chin, "I've heard some of the stories, Mr. Eagerton. I assure you, I am not a slave driver and will personally see to it that the conditions of my workers are up to code."

"I'll never trust a Sharpe, even an American one. Neither will any of my boys."

"Are your boys here, Mr. Eagerton?"

"You've been talking to them, haven't yeah?"

"I am not one of your boys, Fred." Mr. Vale spat.

"Neither am I." Mr. Lushton glared.

Mr. Eagerton whirled back to look at them. "Who runs your precious railroad scheme?" He marched to Mr. Vale, standing on tiptoe to bark into his jaw, "It ain't you or your money that's keeping you alive! It's me and my boys keepin' quiet 'bout how you switch train conductors when your pocket gets bigger than your cod sack!" He marched to Mr. Lushton, meeting chest to chest, "Who kept your mum in business while you were away at school? Think your granddad's money were enough? You'd be worse off than your lambs if it weren't for me and my union lads."

Mr. Lushton smirked. "That were then, and I'm not me Mum." He turned to Edith, black eyes glittering. "What did you have in mind for a contract, Lady Shahpe?"

Mr. Eagerton pushed Mr. Lushton suddenly, "You traitorous bastard!"

"Mr. Eagerton, contain yourself!" Alan shouted.

Mr. Eagerton ignored him, "Can't wait to get back on the family lands, eh?"

Mr. Holly's gun cocked before Mr. Lushton could reply. "Gentlemen, I believe dinner is served." Edith did not have to look up to see the silver hand of death pointed at Mr. Eagerton, she felt it's presence loud and clear. "Unless the children would like some other means of entertainment outside."

Mr. Eagerton whirled around to Mr. Holly, the movement paining Edith's forehead. "What'd you say, Nancy?"

"I said, leave or stain the carpet. Neither matter to me, only the lady."

Mr. Eagerton turned to Mr. Vale, "You stayin' then? Table for two under Judas?"

Mr. Vale swallowed, "Thomas is not his father, Fred. He's the black sheep of the family, wouldn't hurt a soul that didn't deserve it. Punishing him for something he had no control over, that's unjustified and wrong."

"Won't hurt to line your pockets either, eh?"

"Mr. Eagerton," Edith cooed, "If I may-"

"No you may not." Mr. Eagerton spat. He looked at both men and nodded, "Enjoy your dinner. Might be your last." With that, he turned his heel and stomped out the door.

Silence echoed throughout the house aside for the shuffling of Mr. Holly's leather holster accepting the pistol. Slowly, Mr. Vale turned to Edith, "Lady Sharpe, can you guarantee that regardless of whether your husband hangs or not, the Sharpe mines will reopen with two harvesting machines?"

Mr. Lushton turned to her and nodded, eyes turning to coal. Edith swallowed, she now had the lives of both of these men in her hands. She nodded, "You both will stop whatever influence you have been exerting against my husband, turning it instead toward his innocence. But, regardless of the outcome, I will order the construction of a second harvesting machine and the opening of new, safer shafts."

"On that note," Alan called, gesturing to the table, "Dinner is served."

AHAHAH

Day of Trial

Edith folded the day's issue of the Cumberland Times, smiling despite her nerves. In that day's issue, Mr. Lushton penned a magnificent article detailing his boyhood days at Allerdale Hall with Thomas. From what Edith could infer, Thomas's days with outside contact were the happiest of his childhood simply because he was exposed to human emotion other than spite, revenge, and hate. The cruelty of his parents was put into ink and paper, several of the recollections Mr. Lushton detailed making Edith put her hand to her stomach in a motion of protection. How could such cruel people raise a man like Thomas, she asked herself. Then she remembered, he wasn't raised by his parents. He was raised by Lucille, and a yearning to get away.

Thomas was brought in, free from his shackles and handcuffs, wearing his blue suit. Edith sat directly behind his chair and stood with when he came in, arms shooting out to grab him into a tight embrace when he leaned to greet her. "Hello, my darling!" She grinned, hugging him close.

"Ma'am you cannot do that."

"I've made deals with Vale and Lushton, you should be alright." She released him. "We will be alright, Thomas."

He smiled, blue eyes glittering. "I never doubted you."

"All rise!" The Bailiff hollered, "Welcome the Honorable Judge Mayhew."

They stood waiting for the judge to seat himself, Edith scanning every inch of the man's frame for any reason for this case to go afoul. She couldn't find any and his whole demeanor promised a better day than the last time they saw each other. The Bailiff made his opening statements, then passed the speaking over to Judge Mayhew.

"First order of business is a request by both councilors to ask Dr. Alan McMichael for permission to allow Lady Edith Cushing Sharpe to be cross examined as the only remaining victim of the Defendant." Edith felt a shiver down her spine as Judge Mayhew turned to Alan, "Do you unquestionably allow your patient to take the stand as a witness, Dr. McMichael?"

Alan stood without looking to Edith, "I do, your honor."

"I heard she had an episode of hysteria recently, is everything alright?"

Alan cast a sideways glance at her, "She is well, your honor. Just impatient."

"Lady Sharpe, given your interesting condition and your association to the Defendant, do you feel able to stand as a witness?"

Edith stood, finding that the motion was becoming increasingly difficult on her knees. "I do, your honor."

"Alright. Council, you may begin questioning your first witness."

Mr. Bell stood, casting a glance to Edith as she took her seat. Suddenly, she felt afraid. She couldn't explain it, she could not even find the breath in her lungs. All she felt was an overwhelming need to reach out and protect her family.

"Edith, are you alright?" Alan whispered.

She nodded, though she felt like she was telling a horrid lie. "I'm fine."

"Your honor, since this is an admittedly peculiar case, with Sir Sharpe admitting a portion of his guilt in written testimony that all councilors present have read and agreed to, I find it only fitting to call him as the first witness."

Edith gripped Alan's hand as Thomas was escorted to the witness stand, panic surging through her veins. He shouldn't be up there, She thought, He won't be able to get out!

Thomas sat at the witness stand, intertwining his hands and resting them upon his lap. He sat with his back against the rest, as though waiting for the first course in a Service de la Russe supper. "Sir Thomas," Mr. Bell began, "You stand here accused of murder, conspiracy to commit murder, and gross moral indecency: incest. Do you deny these charges?"

Thomas inhaled, "I deny murder, sir. I never killed anyone in cold blood."

"But you admit to conspiracy to commit murder and incest?"

He stiffened. "Yes, sir."

Mr. Bell left the ramparts of his desk and stepped onto the courtroom floor. "Sir Thomas, you seem like a handsome fellow, capable of landing yourself a wife as seen with the deceased Ladies Sharpe as well as the Lady present here today," He looked back at Edith, making her flinch. "Why did you see a need to inflict yourself upon your own flesh and blood?"

Thomas inhaled, his fists gripping his trousers. "I did not initiate first contact, sir. Lucille did."

"Why would a refined lady such as your sister need such intimacy?"

Edith exhaled a growl, causing Alan to stroke her hand.

Thomas broke eye contact, addressing Mr. Bell's elbow rather than him. "I was favored among my parents, likely because I was a son. They were brutal to us, but more so to Lucille, fearing that she was to become a 'natural harlot.' I showed her kindness because I did not know enough of spite. She must have thought that because I was kind, that I loved her as I love my Edith." He flicked his eyes to her for a moment, before shame glossed his features and he looked away again. "I felt guilty for being loved more than she was." He closed his eyes, "She would always say that it was the least that I could do for her. She showed her love by protecting me from my father's riding crop, and my mother's cane-"

"Look at me, Sir Thomas!"

Thomas focused his eyes in Mr. Bell's general direction, a slight shiver visible. "She said the least that I could do… was, to give her affection."

Mr. Bell scoffed, "You had no problem with that I'll wager. Sir Thomas, do you know the average age that a boy begins developing sexual inclinations?"

Thomas shook his head, "I do not, sir."

"Age thirteen to sixteen." He leaned back as though he had won a small victory. "That is why I doubt that you had trouble seeing the error in your acts with your sister."

Thomas rose slightly, "I had trouble because I was first invited into her bed at age ten. By twelve, there was no mystery left between the two of us." What audience was there gasped, while Edith smoothed her stomach, her heart bleeding for her husband.

"Perhaps you had an early maturity," Mr. Bell commented.

"Objection! Perhaps my client is a victim!" Mr. Copper, interjected. "Abernathy vs. Jacques, last year, your honor. Abernathy was guilted repeatedly by his female French neighbor into sexual intercourse. Certain women can be desirous and akin to slave holders when they have found the prey that they yearn for."

"Sustained," Judge Mayhew grunted, "Behave yourself, Mr. Bell."

"My apologies, your honor. No further questions." He assumed his seat while Mr. Copper stood.

"Sir Thomas, can you remember the night you first laid with Lady Lucille?"

"Vividly," Thomas muttered, eyeing his lawyer.

"Do you remember ever inviting her to think of sexual intercourse? Did any of your actions, inspire, thoughts?"

Thomas swallowed, "I do not recall ever having said anything that would have been taken as an invitation, sir. At ten years old, I do not think that I was capable."

"But, you allowed it to happen? Even as a mature adult, you allowed it to continue, why?"

"Lucille was all that I had, sir. My mother showed her love in beating me with a heavy cane that she could hardly lift above her shoulder as opposed to the swift bamboo cane that she always gave to Lucille. My father showed his love by taking me to the clay mines and had me give commands to the miners that elongated their work process, saying that I should be merciless as a master." He closed his eyes, "I could have escaped her, but she was afraid of being forgotten," Quietly, he added, "Again." His eyes shot open, "I found the strength to leave her in the arms of my beloved Edith. I saw what real love could be when I fell in love with my current wife."

The moon wasn't high enough for Edith's heart to fly in that moment. He loves me! She thought, leaning forward. "I love you," She mouthed to him.

"What made this wife so different than the others, Sir Thomas?"

Edith zapped back to reality, remembering the dripping red faces of the spectres that had tried to warn her about their husband.

"My previous wives were Lucille's idea. We had run out of funds and were in desperate need to survive. Lucille refused to be shared with another man throughout her youth, but I had entertained several ladies of good means that were hoping for marriage as they were all of spinster aspect and, well, desperation. They believed in me, in my inventions. Lucille suggested I exploit that and marry for the money to finance the creation of my… successful, harvesting machine."

"Does it work?" Mr. Copper asked, smiling.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Canavan Vale and Mr. John Lushton of the Bassenthwaite Lushtons have already secured deals to invest further in the reopening Sharpe clay mines."

Mr. Copper leaned back, impressed. "Your honor, if I might say on a personal note, I never knew Mr. Vale to invest in a failed enterprise." Judge Mayhew nodded. "But, I digress. Why did you have need to kill them, your wives?"

"I did not know that Lucille was poisoning Pamela, until she became very ill. Lucille said that, if for whatever reason they decided to divorce, they would take their money with them. If they left me a widower, I would remain in control of their finances."

"You agreed to this?"

"Yes. We had been destitute for so long, it was hard to find the morality."

The trial went on for at least two hours more, with Mr. Copper and Mr. Bell calling several witnesses to give testimony both for and against Thomas. The Vicar from Redsett, a worker from the harvesting machine (Mr. Finlay's memory was too flippant for court use), and Alan. That examination was started by Mr. Bell.

"Can you tell us what happened the night you arrived at Allerdale Hall?"

"I arrived to find them scurrying around Edith's body. They said she had fallen off the landing of the stairs several stories up. Lucille said that, Thomas was frantic about moving her out of the snow falling from the hole in the ceiling. From the impact, it certainly seemed like it, but those railings were far too high for any one person to fall by slipping on a banana or some other nonsense. They had to be determined to get over that."

"Is that your professional opinion?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what happened?"

"I sedated Edith with a shot of morphine that I had in my bag, in case of emergency. I then reset her leg that had broken from the fall or a hit on the way down. Lady Lucille was very helpful, giving me bowls, splints, and rags to help Edith. Thomas stood off to the side, watching my every movement. I feared for Edith's safety, I recognized the paleness and cold sweat that she was exuding after the morphine to be poisoning of some kind. She had a strong aversion to the tea, a hot drink in a frigid place. She was also delusional, speaking of her deceased mother talking to her. All of these are textbook definitions of herbal poisoning. I attempted to take Edith from the house, but was hindered by the Sharpes. Mostly, Lady Lucille. She stabbed me in the armpit, I can show you the scar if need be."

"That won't be necessary. Please continue."

"She then pushed Thomas toward me, handing him a knife and telling him that he should be the one to kill me. Thomas told me that if he didn't do it, then Lucille definitely would. He then whispered to me to show him where to stab me, I got the feeling that he had a plan. I showed him a place that is medically salvageable and told him how to stab me. He did so and earned the favor of his sister. From there, I cannot give a good conscious account due to the shock, but I can say this: Thomas got us out of the house. He got myself, and Edith out to the stables, and killed Lady Lucille in a fight when she otherwise would have seriously wounded or killed us all."

"Anything further you would like to add, Dr. McMichael?"

Alan nodded, looking briefly to Edith. "He genuinely loves Edith. We are here, exposing his hideousness, because of it." He hesitated, "He is a good man."

Mr. Bell nodded, "No further questions for Dr. McMichael, your honor. But, with councilor's permission, I would like to call Sir Thomas back onto the stand for one more round of questioning."

Judge Mayhew looked to Mr. Copper who agreed. "Granted."

Edith's bottom felt numb and her back was sore; she longed for a break to the water closet if only to stretch her legs for a moment. When Alan rejoined her, she was massaging the back of her neck, hardly paying attention.

"Sir Thomas, would you kindly tell us about this picture?"

Edith looked back to her husband, seeing him take a picture from Mr. Bell. "This a mortuary photograph of my son, Giovanni." He handed it back to Mr. Bell. Edith sat up, wide awake.

"Would you be so kind as to tell the court about him?"

"Giovanni was my son with Lucille. He was conceived in Italy, we told anyone asking that Lucille had taken a lover who lied about his marital position and had jilted her at the altar. Enola was a nurse, educated at the University of Milan. She was also a talented chemist who administered tonics and herbs to Lucille to ease her morning sickness. After we married, the baby was born. Immediately, Enola knew it to be malformed and that such children were often killed to spare them the pain of growing in their condition. Lucille was adamant, however, that she wanted to keep the boy."

Mr. Bell looked at the picture of Giovanni, then at Thomas. "What happened to your son, Sir Thomas? How did he die?"

Edith wanted to run, to leave the island for lands that would never ask such questions. She looked to Thomas, and nearly died at the sight of his face contorting into different shapes of pain. He isn't ready, She thought, He shouldn't be forced to talk about this yet!

"Giovanni died… because I killed him."

Edith's own baby began to squirm, as though crying out to its father. In anguish or defense, Edith didn't know. She only knew that she could not stop her ears from hearing the one story she never wanted to hear.

"Giovanni was born with several deformities that required the complete breaking of bones so that they might heal in a more normal, more comfortable fashion. He needed to be fitted with rods and screws that would have pulled apart ligaments, muscle tissue, even organs, if not administered properly." His voice cracked, "Every night, he needed to be heavily sedated lest he cry alone, all night. As he got bigger, it became more difficult to give him the love what a baby requires. Cuddling, baths, even changing his nappies were difficult. There was so much wrong with him, that Enola sat Lucille and I down and explained that Giovanni was now on constant sedatives and we were not doing him any favors by letting him live.

"Lucille was livid and accused Enola of trying to take her happiness from her. She would hear none of her advice any further. She wouldn't even let her near him to give him his tonics, causing the baby to cry even more." He looked down, his shoulders shivering. When he composed himself, Thomas looked up, blue eyes glittering with tears. "I made the decision to end his misery. I told Enola to draw a bath in our bathroom and I would fetch him. I made Lucille tea with heavy sedatives in her cup so that she fell asleep instantly. I then gave Giovanni his medicine and took him upstairs." He cried for moments, trying to pull himself together. "I made sure he didn't feel anything, I swear on my life!"

The only one who dared to move was Mr. Bell to give Thomas a handkerchief. Edith couldn't move to wipe the tears from her eyes. Her baby kicked and fluttered, obliterating her heart even further. Her husband killed his own baby.

"Af-after it was over, we removed the rods and dressed him in a baptismal gown to take the picture. Lucille was frantic, but couldn't move because of the sedatives. She was there when we buried him. The next thing I knew, she had killed Enola in that same bathtub. That was when I realized that I was not bound to Lucille anymore. I could find it in my heart to love another."

The look he cast to Edith was warm, loving. But to Edith, it was the cold hand of death itself. She felt trapped. She did everything to save this man who had murdered his own child. "I need to leave." She breathed to Alan.

"You can't, you're a witness!"

"Please, I need to go!" She stood.

"Edith!"

"Sit down, Sir Thomas!"

Edith moved down the aisle, hand cupped to her mouth while the Bailiff moved to restrain Thomas. "She needs a moment, your honor!" Alan shouted back to the judge.

"We shall break for one hour for lunch. I want this trial over with today." He slammed his gavel.

From behind her, Edith could hear Thomas screaming her name.

AHAHAH

Edith had no desire to eat, but Alan reasoned that she needed nourishment for the baby. While she ingested soup and a half of a sandwich, Edith could not think about anything other than the mortuary photograph of Giovanni. Thomas, was in all intents and purposes, innocent of a parental decision. But she could not ignore the fact that that decision killed a baby. If she stayed with him, then he would be in his right to administer such decisions upon their children without her consent. If ever they decided to divorce for any reason, any children would belong to Thomas.

By what they had seen and heard of all testimonies and drawn conclusions, Thomas would be acquitted for incest and murder. Conspiracy to commit murder was the looming wolf that howled in the back of her mind. By all accounts, Edith could gain a divorce and legally keep the lands of Allerdale Hall and the mines. She could live out the rest of her days as a wealthy woman, raising her child with the best and finest America could offer. She could marry Alan, if she ever gained her taste for marriage back.

But, she could not suppress that overwhelming feeling of love that she had for Thomas. She knew why he did it, and she could sympathize with him. If her little one was born with a condition as Giovanni, she would have wanted only the best for him, even if that meant a means of permanent end to his pain. Thomas did not make that decision lightly, either. If such a decision was not difficult to make, then he would have told her weeks ago. The way he cried when he had previously kept his emotions in rigid check, meant that he felt that death each time he looked upon her fattened stomach. He must have realized that he would one day have to hold another baby and risk knowing that such a child could have similar deformities.

"Edith?"

She looked up, seeing Alan hold her hand. "Yes?"

"It's time to go back in." She nodded, then took his arm to let him escort her inside the courtroom. "Do you know what you're going to say?"

She swallowed, "Just… answer the questions, I presume."

"I can tell the court you aren't up to it."

Edith stopped dead, glaring at him. "Don't, you, dare patronize me!"

He looked at her, swallowing. "I wouldn't dream of it."

They walked into the courtroom, finding Thomas handcuffed to his chair. He turned around as much as he could, eyes wide. "Edith!" Mr. Copper immediately leaned to Thomas and whispered something, encouraging him to turn away from her.

Court was called into session, with more people sitting in the audience than when the trial began. All eyes fell upon Edith when she was called to the witness stand, dozens of eyes looking in upon her marriage. She walked slowly to the desired seat, ignoring all attempts to help her.

Mr. Copper was first to question her, looking at her with soft eyes of blue. "Lady Sharpe, can you tell us what you experienced while at Allerdale Hall?"

For the first time, Edith looked at Thomas. Her words could save him. They could also condemn him. Of all the words an author could compose, these next few were the most important in hers and her husband's life.

Edith inhaled, and parted her lips.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"When I came to Allerdale Hall, I was a bride ready to begin my new life with my husband. I did not think it strange at first that he did not wish to lay with me because of the mourning I was experiencing due to the death of my father. I found it slightly odd at how intimate Thomas and Lucille were with each other, but I dismissed it as them being the only two links to family since they were children. I knew that my father and I had certainly become close after the departure of my mother.

"It was not long before I started noticing things; shadows moving on their own, the elevator coming and going without anyone to prompt it. Allerdale Hall was haunted and the ghosts of the victims named here were attempting to speak to me."

"Objection, relevancy." Mr. Bell shouted.

"Mr. Mason, the village inspector saw them, your honor." Edith told Judge Mayhew, "So did Mr. Kennedy, a bounty hunter and trusted man of Mr. Mason's. They are relevant to my tale, sir."

Judge Mayhew turned to Mr. Bell, "Overruled. You may continue, Lady Sharpe."

"The ghosts tried to scare me away from the house, tried to get me to leave. I believe the ghost of Enola Sciotti showed me to a linen closet with wax cylinders that detailed the previous wives' discovery of the plots against them by Thomas and Lucille."

Mr. Copper stood, "The wax cylinders presented here?" Edith nodded, "Let the records state that Lady Sharpe is nodding in the affirmative. Could you please elaborate on your term of 'plots,' Lady Sharpe?"

"The plot to poison us through the tea for our money. Thomas knew about the plots, but he needed the money. He told me himself that you needed a measure of bitterness to survive Allerdale Hall."

"Then what happened, Lady Sharpe?"

"Thomas told me to stop drinking the tea when Lucille was away; told me in a low voice like a secret to keep together against her. He told me later that he initially went along with the plot against me because he knew he was close to finishing his machine and required the funds our marriage would provide. If he finished whilst I still lived, then there would be no need to continue poisoning me for control of my money. They would be making their own." She hesitated, then continued, "I firmly believe that Thomas was desperate to provide for his family, and escape his sister. That was why he did what he did."

"Is that why you remained with him, Lady Sharpe? You believed in his cause?"

She nodded, "Yes. Thomas proved that he loved me as his wife and wanted to be with me. He did not confess it in a grandiose manner as in a novel, but he did so in gestures and intimate actions reserved for a husband and wife. Actions that he had given only to Lucille. And, his machine works. I worked it myself, it's revolutionary. Seeing it, working it, I know now that my husband wasn't a sadistic murderer." She closed her eyes, "He was right, only desperate."

Mr. Copper nodded, "No further questions, your honor."

Edith opened her eyes to see Mr. Bell stand. "Lady Sharpe, your written testimony details when you discovered Sir Thomas was engaged in a love affair with his sister Lady Lucille. Will you be so kind as to relay that testimony to the court?"

Immediately, that compromising image filled Edith's mind. She couldn't stop her tears from falling into that gaping, raw hole in her chest she felt open each time this subject was mentioned. "I awoke to throw up blood due to the poisoning. Afterwards, I heard the sounds that I immediately recognized as one of the ghosts. I knew by then that they wanted to help, frightening as they were. I was in a wheelchair by then and wheeled myself out to see the ghost of Enola holding baby Giovanni. She pointed towards Lucille's room. I had to climb the stairs, knowing that there was something important that she wanted me to see. I felt like dying, but I kept going. I opened the door and saw them on the bed," People in the audience turned away, shaking their heads, "Sitting. Lucille, was singing that wretched lullaby, while her hand…" She closed her eyes, bringing the image to vivid detail.

"You may be discreet, Lady Sharpe." Judge Mayhew told her.

"She was giving pleasure to Thomas, clothed." She opened her eyes to soothe her baby. "I turned away when Thomas saw me. I was repulsed by them. Lucille chased after me; I thought she wasn't his sister, then. I hoped against hope that she wasn't. Thomas was frightened, begging her to leave me alone; I didn't know why, then. Lucille declared their relation before she ripped off my wedding ring and pushed me over the railing of the stairs. That ring was taken from her left hand by the undertaker. She thought herself to be Thomas's true wife, and I was the lover."

Mr. Bell walked to her slowly, his shoes tapping the wood floors. "Lady Sharpe, why should your husband not hang for the crime of incest? You yourself saw him enjoying himself in the arms of his own sister." He pointed a finger to Thomas, "Why should he not pay for it?"

The tears stopped. "Because he has paid for it, sir." She leaned forward. "Thomas told me that he would close his eyes to things that made him uncomfortable. His eyes were sealed shut in the arms of Lucille, his face turned away. When he and I… were intimate, he kept better eye contact than a schoolboy before the headmaster. He said that he feared Lucille would kill me before his machine was finished, so he let her believe that he still loved her. She nearly killed him, sir. Doctor Turner and Nurse Fox have testified to that. He needed to keep me safe from her until he finished his machine."

"Why did it matter if the machine was finished or not?"

"Thomas told me if the machine was finished before I died, then there would be no need to kill me because they would make their own money. Thomas believed that we could get away together if he was successful." She looked away, "So he played his part and kept Lucille at bay. He would leave our bed in the middle of the night, most nights, and go to appease her. If he hadn't I'm certain that she would have thought he was falling in love and would have killed me sooner." She inhaled, and looked at him, "As much as it pains me, sir, I must say that I agree with my husband's actions." Whispers erupted throughout the courtroom, "He knew her like a book; he knew what a danger she was."

Mr. Bell nodded. "I have one more question, Lady Sharpe." She nodded, though thoroughly exhausted. "This man, through whatever action on his own, nearly killed you. He gave you poison, exposed you to a murderous lunatic that he could only feed with his body, and yet you are still here. My question is, are you here because you are fulfilling your wifely duties and standing by your husband, or are you here because of something else?"

Edith swallowed, then looked at her husband. He looked as though he had been swallowed whole and spat up again. Every inch of him begged for the torture to end, every breath he took a curse for allowing him to remain alive.

"I'm here because I love him."

His eyes shot to her, his exhaustion leaving him for shock. Slowly, he straightened, begging her to repeat herself. Edith turned to the prosecution attorney and declared, "Mr. Bell, I am an heiress worth hundreds of thousands. My fortune is set to rise due to Thomas relinquishing to me the lands of Allerdale Hall and everything on it. I do not need him." She gestured to Thomas. "I want him, because I fell in love with him. I fell in love with his passion, his loyalty, his determination to take a scrap heap and make it yield. Most recently, I fell in love with his relentless course to make right his wrongs, even if it will kill him. I offered to take him to America over Christmas, before he could be arrested. I wanted to save him from such exposure as this," She waved her hand over the court, "But he refused. He wanted to make things right with the law… and with me."

Edith touched both hands to her round stomach, "I am giving him a child, not because it is my wifely duty, but because I love him." She looked at Thomas, "Child killer and all, I love you, you incestuous bastard."

He smirked slightly, eyes dripping with emotion.

She turned back to Mr. Bell, "And women can yearn for sex, too! It isn't exclusive to a man! That was what I hated the most about my days within Allerdale Hall: unable to suppress my yearnings for my husband, with my husband. I am not saying this as a pregnant woman, but as one who sat all day listening to your patronizing rumblings!" She sat back in her chair with a huff of finality.

AHAHAH

Judge Mayhew heard enough evidence and witness testimonies at around four o'clock that day, then gave everyone a half hour tea break. Alan was on pins since Edith returned from the witness stand, hungering to sweep her off her feet and put her back in her wheelchair away from the courtroom. Edith couldn't care less, however. Her entire body was numb aside from the occasional squirming from the baby that fluttered some semblance of human emotion. She could hardly look at Thomas, but knew that he was feeling similarly. As odd as it was, Edith wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and just stare into a fire in a hearth, to hell with the rest of the world.

Then, Judge Mayhew returned to his bench. "Will the defendant please rise." The Bailiff uncuffed Thomas, allowing him and Mr. Copper to stand. "After reviewing the evidence and hearing the testimonies against you, I have reached a verdict. For the charge of murder, the court finds you innocent."

Edith's heart leapt in her throat. "He's not going to be hanged!"

"For the charge of conspiracy to commit the murder of Pamela Upton, Margaret McDermott, Enola Sciotti, and Edith Sharpe neé Cushing, the court finds you guilty." Edith cried out as her heart fell flat to the floor. "But only for three accounts as you did alert Lady Sharpe and rescued her and Dr. Alan McMichael from the true murderer, the deceased Lady Lucille Sharpe.

"For the charge of gross moral indecency: incest, the court finds you," He paused, looking directly to Thomas, "Guilty. This decision did not come lightly, Sir Thomas. The court does recognize that you were a victim of pedophilia, but, you did willingly commit incest with your own sister during your marriage to Lady Edith Sharpe. You knew that you had a wife and that you loved her and favored her to your sister, but continued to commit incest. Your intentions were indeed honorable, however, the action of incest is still, morally, wrong."

Edith looked to her husband's back. No matter where they went now, no matter how far, his name would always be stained with this conviction. Her chest felt like bursting, all organs bleeding. Even her baby seemed to be crying.

"It is the decision of the court to sentence Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet to seven years' incarceration, hard labor." _Clack!_

Judge Mayhew left swiftly, allowing the participants of the court a moment to congratulate and congregate. Thomas immediately looked back to Edith, reaching out to take her forearms. "Edith, darling, please look at me!"

She lifted her eyes that felt as heavy as train engines. "Oh, Thomas!"

He crushed her to his chest. "I swear, I was going to tell you about Giovanni!"

"I know you were! It wasn't time, yet."

He faced her, features as desperate as when he confronted her on the stairs the night they ran away. "He didn't feel a thing! Enola made certain of it. He hardly moved under the water. I kept him there until he was dead, one quick submersion!"

She stroked his tear soaked cheek. "It's alright," She breathed. "You did what you thought was best for your son. I cannot condemn you for that. But, I don't have to like it, either."

"I hated myself for weeks because of it."

Edith placed his hand on her stomach, feeling the flurry of motion from their baby. "This is a clean slate." She inhaled, "So is this prison sentence. We both can heal apart, we can start over, have a real courtship."

Thomas looked at her, studying her. He released her and swallowed, "I would not trade three glorious weeks of seeing you surrounded by American sunshine and butterflies for anything. But, I agree. We need to heal from all this." He lifted his hand out for a shake, "Sir Thomas Sharpe, Baronet."

Edith giggled, fragmented heart slowly coming together. "Lady Edith Sharpe." She took his hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He smiled, blue eyes beginning to warm. "May I write to you, Lady Sharpe?"

The Bailiff coughed, reminding them of Thomas's status as a convict in need of transport. Edith turned back to Thomas, "I'm afraid I have no permanent home at the moment. Would it be scandalous if I wrote to you, Sir Thomas?"

"The biggest scandal, Lady Sharpe." He winked at her. "May I have the pleasure of a kiss before I depart?"

Edith dropped his hand and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him slowly, savoring his lips. He held her in an unbreakable hold, one last dance before midnight. When they separated, each had begun crying again; Each person frightened for the other. "I will write to you as much as I can."

"And I shall respond to each return address." He kissed her once more, then stepped back to be arrested by the Bailiff, smiling tiredly. "I love you, Edith."

Edith, fresh streams flowing, smiled. "I know. I love you, too."

The Bailiff gestured to Thomas's left and sent him walking, leaving Edith with Mr. Copper. "We can try to appeal," He told her, "But, with only seven years I think it is something that you might want to stomach. Parolees out on reduced sentences cannot leave the country and must meticulously follow the rules of their parole. Whereas ex-convicts have a somewhat easier journey."

Edith nodded. "I think we should avoid crossing that bridge just yet." She watched her husband disappear through the prisoner's gate. "For now, let us celebrate that some of us will not be wearing crêpe."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Two Months After Trial

Thomas stared at his hands, wrapped in gauze from wielding a pickaxe six days a week, the clean white spotted with the red juice of burst blisters. He had grown a full beard, and tied his wild curly hair back with a string. He had been fortunate that three weeks into his hard labor sentence, one of the cotton gins had broken down and provided him with an opportunity to show his engineering prowess. The complete fixing of the machine took a week, earning him the coveted title of "essential worker" which allowed him better portions of meat. He had been enjoying such a break from ordinary prison life but recently, he didn't know why, he had been put on digging trenches for new gas pipes in Allerdale City.

This morning, however, he and a handful of dependable workers, (men who proved that they only wanted to finish their time and be done with jail) were rounded up and loaded shoulder to shoulder into a paddy wagon for outside contract work. Thomas didn't care, he only wanted to get back in time to write a letter to Edith. She came to see him each week during visiting hours, bringing him news of the house, the production of the mines, and the machine. Her stomach was unmistakably big, and she could hardly go anywhere without huffing and puffing. McMichael continued to stay by her side, working in the hospital in Carlisle City during the week and making business ventures back and forth to the clay mines on the weekends when his presence was absolutely needed.

The paddy wagon jostled and bounced, making some of the men grumble and curse. "Oi, Barry!" A convict named Jesse, barked.

Thomas rolled his eyes to him, "What?"

"What's the name of your family lands? Allerton?"

His eyes returned to his hands, "Allerdale Hall."

"Ain't that it?" He pointed a chained hand to the slits in the paddy wagon for air.

Thomas frowned and leaned back, pressing his cheek to the slits. They had passed a wrought iron gate into a property with prominently red clay ground. The day was cloudy, ready to rain and therefore hid the hills and vales, if there were any to begin with. "Shut your face, Jesse." Thomas grunted, facing forward. I'm not that fortunate, He thought to himself.

The paddy wagon slowed to a halt, prompting the men to sit up straight with anticipation. The doors were opened, flooding the darkened interior with muted light and the men were ordered out, one at a time by their jailers in black coats and domed helmets. With the chains on their ankles, they had little choice in their movement but to hop out in a synchronized manner, each man hoping the one in front of him didn't trip and bring the whole gang with him. Thomas followed in this manner, keeping his eyes down lest he dare to hope for some-

He raised his head, he knew that sound. The staggered breathing, the strained pulling of belts and digging buckets. His machine! Thomas moved, eyes wide, looking out at the vast red landscape that used to be crowned by a towering mansion, now dotted with one clay harvesting machine, several ovens for baking bricks into clay and horse drawn wagons upon freshly laid cobblestone to carry valuable bricks and tiles to be sent to businesses in Manchester or Leeds. He had seen the feature story in the Cumberland Times during one of Edith's visits. He had explained every inch of the machine to the friendlier inmates, but now, seeing it ready to work full scale in front of him, made his steeled heart flutter once again. He was home!

A carriage trotted next to them, occupied by a sight of gold and roses. Edith, lovely and heavily pregnant, wore a neat little hat rimmed with roses, and gold burnished dress to meet the prisoners. Of course, she was accompanied by McMichael, and made quick talk with the foreman for this convict crew, Mr. Gallagher. Immediately, Mr. Gallagher lined the men up, commanding them to watch Edith make her way towards them. Thomas turned to one man, Knaggs, and whispered, "She's my wife, the bulge is my baby." He faced forward, knowing that the news would be in Ireland by next week.

"Welcome to Allerdale Hall." Edith began, giving them an air that she was not a woman to be trifled with. "I have a contract with your prison to borrow convict labor to run my clay mines, seen here." She waved a hand to the machine and the clay pits beneath the foundation of the house. "You will work for me seven days a week producing bricks for the new prison outside of Grassmere." The men grumbled, only to be shouted at by Mr. Gallagher. "According to the contract, you will be here seven days a week. According to Mr. Gallagher and myself, those who behave, use the least amount of language, and give audience to the Vicar more than once a week, will be rewarded on the seventh day with a proper Sunday roast of chicken, vegetables, and pudding." The men looked to each other, Thomas beamed. He had written that in his earliest journal, longing for better treatment of his father's men. "Those who do not behave will be punished. There are plenty of men willing to behave, you can be easily replaced."

Edith turned to the side, gesturing to the cement and wood slab that was the foundation of Thomas's childhood home and giving the men a full view of her burdening stomach, "This used to be a grand house in the past, until it was consumed by fire. It is my intention to rebuild it. To do that, I shall require one brick for every five made, to be put here." She stomped her foot on the foundation. "Stack them neatly, and you shall see what your hard work has built." She gasped and touched her stomach, leaning forward slightly, making Thomas and McMichael flinch forward. She waved McMichael away and stood as much as possible, a difficult task by the look of her teeth upon her bottom lip and her heavy breathing. "You are building a house for me and my child. Whatever crimes you have committed, know that you are making two lives better by being here." She looked at Thomas for a moment before proceeding. "Is there an engineer among you?"

All eyes fell to Thomas as he raised his hand. "I am an engineer, my lady."

"I shall meet with you once a week to discuss the progress your men are making and how the machine is running. Another will be constructed soon; you shall be a part of that project."

Thomas nodded, ready to cry. "Yes, my lady."

"When you meet with me, I would like to see you clean shaven, and in a set of clothes other than prisoner's garb." Her eyes looked down to his black and white jumpsuit.

"I'll bet she'll help you change." A prisoner joked, making the men chuckle.

Thomas began to whirl on him when Mr. Gallagher's baton punched the man in the stomach and continued beating him until Edith called out to him to stop, leaving the man in a bloody heap in the mud. "Mr. Gallagher, I almost forgot." Edith opened her purse and withdrew an envelope that jingled with coins, "Our agreement for this month."

"Thank you, Lady Sharpe." Mr. Gallagher smiled, taking it and putting it into his inside jacket pocket.

A shiver of understanding rippled through the men, frightening Thomas. They were prisoners, and Edith was their warden. "Set to it, men!" She commanded, "I expect to see a full order ready to transport in two weeks."

AHAHAH

Working for Edith was one of the best things the men and Thomas had ever done. They lived in a fortified barn between Redsett and Allerdale City, and worked from eight until dusk each day taking their meals at the mines, and made bricks and tiles. Sunday roasts were as promised: delicious, well earned, and well paid for. One man who refused to see the benefit in ceasing his swearing worked by himself in the hot sun while the rest of the twenty inmates feasted and laughed at his expense.

Thomas reveled at the luxury of taking the helm of his prize once more, commanding what came and went from the machine to go hither and thither. Aside from the jailers who kept watch on the workers, Thomas commanded all progress and made all decisions that did not involve Edith. He was given a set of work clothes apart from his prison wear as a show of absolute control, and would meet with Edith on Mondays in the village, her agreement with Mr. Gallagher allowing him one hour of private audience with him. He shaved himself with a razor given to him in a washbasin at their dwelling, then given a nice linen suit to change into so that Edith would always see him at his best.

She had purchased their little rental home that they had come together in before the trial. With her money transferred to the bank in Carlisle, she turned the dingy habitat into a proper home that she was proud of including papering the walls with a lovely design, purchasing new furniture, and ordering new linens. During his allotted hours with his wife, Edith would come into Thomas's arms and tell him about the baby, showing him the room she had prepared for it's arrival. The baby's room was small, with the intent to move into a nicely constructed new mansion once a twin bed was required. Edith was a talented decorator, Thomas had to admit. She ordered the local carpenter to make lovely furniture in the Victorian style and with carpenter's help, she had begun designing a new mansion to replace Thomas's childhood home, keeping the plans to herself to surprise him. Obliging, Thomas would smile, seat her on his knee and explain the week's dealings. It was during one of these hours of bliss that her time came.

Edith gripped the table, nearly throwing the Delft teapot onto the table and touching her stomach. "Edith, what is it?" Thomas demanded, setting his teacup down at the same time he jumped to his feet.

She answered with a moan and a gasp. "I think it's time." She breathed. She cried out again, "It's time! It's… the baby's coming!"

Thomas called out for Sentinel McMichael at the same time he nearly broke the front door down at the sound of Edith crying out. He took one look at Edith before nodding, "Right. Thomas, take Edith to the bedroom, I will fetch Nurse Fox. The baby's on it's way."

Thomas obeyed, guiding his wife to the bedroom and grabbing the stack of newspaper to line the mattress before letting her lie down. "What can I do?" He begged once the newspapers were laid. "Please, tell me what to do!"

"Push on my back!" She huffed, showing him where to do so. "Keep pushing!" Thomas obeyed, offering sweet, futile words of comfort during contractions.

For twelve hours, Edith was in labor. Thomas was allowed to stay for the sake of making tea and keeping the water boiled for Nurse Fox to use in helping to deliver his child. Mr. Gallagher reminded him of that. "I'll be needing some more tea, Barry."

Thomas glared at him, "I'll thank you to not call me that in my house."

"Well and good. Now how 'bout that tea?"

Edith wailed in the distance while Nurse Fox shouted something to McMichael who was overseeing in case of emergency. Thomas pressed his fingers to his lips, offering up another silent prayer for a safe delivery for both of them. "Did you not hear me, boyo?"

Thomas looked at Mr. Gallagher, "My wife is in labor, would you mind helping yourself?"

"Aye, I would." He leaned forward, "According to the rules of the jail, I have to be near any inmate that is serving Lady Sharpe. Serving, means you have to make a contribution to the Lady or her people at least once an hour, or whatever I'd like for you to do if it doesn't conflict with the Lady's direct orders. Look at the time," He gestured to the mantle clock, "You make a fresh pot of tea now, you get to sit and pray for an hour." He leaned back, "And while you're doin' it, thank God or whatever devil you sold your soul to, that you get to be here for your wife and little 'un. The men on your team only get to read about births, deaths, and divorces through letters."

Thomas exhaled, but obeyed, dumping out a pot of untouched, cold tea to make a fresh, steaming one.

Hours later, McMichael came out of the bedroom beaming from head to toe. "Sir Thomas, you have a daughter."

He jumped from his chair, jaw dropped. "And Edith?"

"Doing well. She should make a full recovery."

Thomas laughed, genuinely laughed. He was a father! "May I see her?" He asked Mr. Gallagher.

"For twelve hours, you bloody better!"

Thomas didn't need to be told twice. He ran, brushing passed McMichael to see his wife. She laid in the bed, hair tied back in a ponytail, recovering from pouring sweat. In her arms, she held a little bundle of crochet blanket, smiling. "Edith?"

She tore her gaze away, still smiling. "Thomas! Come, come and see our baby!"

He alighted to her side, kneeling and wrapping his arms around the two of them, seeing for the first time the puffy round face of his daughter. She had thin lips, but they puckered as though wanting to be kissed. Her hair, soft as down, came out in raven corkscrews like his, solidifying her parentage. She was his little girl, his precious daughter. "What are we going to name her?" Edith asked, still marveling over her little girl.

Thomas swallowed, blinking away his tears. They hadn't discussed baby names, but Thomas had thought about that during his lonely hours. "I-I was thinking… what about… Lucretia?" Edith looked at him, so he added quickly, "I remembered reading the classics in school. Lucretia was a woman who sacrificed herself for the good of Rome. Looking back on the tale on my cot, it reminded me of you." He looked at her and smiled, "How you sacrificed yourself to establish our family business." He looked back to the face within the bundle. "It sounds best in Italian, Lucrezzia." He made the proper roll of the tongue, savoring the sound of it. "But, if you wish for a proper English name, then Abigail or Elizabeth would be fine."

"Lucretia." He looked at her, willing her to consider the name. She nodded, "We can call her Lucy for short." She smiled, "Lucretia, heroine of Rome. Not because it sounds like Lucille." She shot him a look, "Right?"

Thomas cupped the baby's head, "Lucille was treated worse than scum of the earth by my father. Simply for being a girl. My little Lucretia, my little Lucy, is my precious jewel. My ruby," He kissed her forehead, "My princess."

AHAHAH

Lucy was only three months old when she first visited the mines. Able to keep awake for more than a few hours, Edith took her bouncing baby to her inheritance, letting her play in her basket within a corral of bricks upon the freshly secured foundation of Allerdale Hall in an area that would one day serve as a nursery. Before she came, though, steel support beams had been ordered and meticulously placed in the clay pits according to Thomas's late night drawing and calculating, ready to hold up a budding house without sinking.

It was not long before Lucy became the daughter of every convict, guard, and management personnel present. They looked after her when she began to crawl, and the convicts rolled to her balls of clay that they baked just for her. The convict Jesse even made her a doll similar to porcelain beauties sold in London, except this one was made to look like an Indian princess in America. To Thomas, she was his constant companion. In his arms, she learned to operate the Harvesting Machine, pointing to the different handles and buttons according to the everyday function before she could speak. At one Sunday roast, Lucy took her first steps.

It was a cold March, but the men ate outside surrounding a nicely burning fire, enjoying their day off. Lucy, dressed entirely in hand knits, waddled with the support of Thomas, placing one leather shoe in front of the other. "Come to Mommy, Lucy!" Edith called, holding out her hands to catch her.

Lucy looked at her mother, bright blue eyes wide with wonder. She pulled against Thomas's hands, prompting him to slowly let her go. With quick, unsure steps, Lucy walked, stomping on soft clay, to the excited arms of her mother. "You did it, Lucy!" Thomas cried, rushing to kiss her.

"She did it!" The men cried, rising and setting down their plates. "She finally walked."

"Try again!" An older convict, Hughes, cried coming forward. "Come on, Little Ruby!"

Edith turned Lucy, and prompted her to walk again. She moved her little legs slowly, uncertain of their motive, but determined to try again. Into Hughes' arms she landed, making the man laugh as well as cry. "I always wanted to meet my granddaughter," He told her, "I thank God that he gave you to us, each night." He kissed her forehead before handing her off to Thomas.

Hughes died in his sleep a week later, twelve years from finishing his sentence. Lucy did not know what was happening; why they went to a grassy place with erect rocks or why she was dressed in crêpe.

AHAHAH

Edith could not delay building the second harvesting machine any longer. She had feared that by building a second machine that production would come faster than work, but given the orders that had been received, she could not afford to feed such a fear. She confided her worries to Alan in the skeleton of wooden beams that mapped out the new mansion, standing in the designated library and Edith's office.

"Thomas would love to build a new machine," Alan told her, surveying the building of the new Allerdale Hall while the workers worked beyond the ribs. "He knows what works now and what doesn't."

"That is not what frightens me, Alan." She confided, looking around at the skeleton that was the first floor of her new home. "We only have enough funds to finish the building of the house if we build a new machine. What if business stops? We still have my inheritance, but Lucy will have nothing."

"What if business increases?" Alan pressed, moving to her side. "The prison is almost finished, two workhouses are going up in Manchester, another three in London, and the university is almost done. Not to mention the countless houses that have ordered bricks and the four opera houses that have ordered tiles for their foyers. Lucy's future will be safe." He looked to the bouncing little girl as she skipped through the "safe" area away from the heavy building and brick making, colored pencils in hand and a halo of scrap paper. "There's also India."

"I will discuss India with Thomas when he comes for his weekly meetings." She stepped away from the planning table. "For now, I have a meeting with the mine inspector. I want to make sure all is safe for the workers. Mr. Vale should be here any moment now to badger Thomas about the construction of the second machine, I can tell them both together." They left Lucy to her coloring binder, practicing her sketches of a bowl of apples holding down the new blueprints.

Edith was absorbed with hearing the inspection report, nodding her head and calculating figures of how she could still save money but keep her men, and Thomas, safe. What broke her concentration was a shout, then a high-pitched scream from a child. A little girl. Edith felt her heart stop the moment Thomas maneuvered the harvesting machine to benign, head careening around for his treasure.

"Get over here, you naughty child!" A voice boomed.

Edith dropped the inspection report the moment her eyes saw Mr. Vale in the office "safe" zone, Lucy's arm in his firm grip and one of her cheeks unusually red.

"Lady Sharpe!" Mr. Vale shouted, Thomas jumping from the machine. "This brat must be taught manners."

Edith opened her lips to order Mr. Vale away from her daughter when Thomas bellowed in a timbre that halted all work and made the guards reach for their batons, "Let her go!"

Mr. Vale turned to see the pale and black fury heading towards him, blue eyes raging. "It drew on the blueprints!" He held out the clenched pages in his free fist, "How is work supposed to be do-"

Thomas knocked the pages away, and punched Mr. Vale on the cheek, sending him staggering away from Lucy. "Never touch my Ruby again!" He punched him again and again.

"Thomas stop!" Edith screamed, grabbing handfuls of her skirt and hurtling to him.

Hands shot out and collected Lucy from the brawl as the men gathered around them, shoving Mr. Vale back towards Thomas for even thinking of touching their daughter. Mr. Gallagher blew his whistle and his other guards shoved their way through the ring, separating Thomas from his prey. One set of arms, a prisoner, grabbed Edith as the batons went flying, the sounds of Lucy's screams rivalling Mr. Gallagher's whistle.

"Alright now, Barry!" Mr. Gallagher hollered, pulling Thomas off his victim as the crowd settled. Edith made on jerk towards Lucy and Mr. Gallagher nodded, "See to the Lassie, you've made your paternal point. Go on, now. She's in a state, she needs her da'."

Thomas looked to Mr. Gallagher and stepped back, finding his daughter held by a prisoner defended by a guard from the din. Her eyes were filled with tears, her face contorted with confusion a single pencil in her white knuckled grip. Thomas held out his arms and took her, and swinging her onto his hip, he picked up the wrinkled blueprints and carried her to the steps of the harvesting machine which Lucy had affectionately named "The Dinosaur." Edith followed them, still shaken from seeing her daughter's fluster. Seating Lucy on his knee, Thomas opened the blueprints and looked at her, his features soft. "Lucy, why are you coloring on Daddy and Mummy's papers?"

Edith had to lean in to hear her answer, "The pictures were missing the flowers I planted." She pointed to the daisies she and Edith had planted as soon as the ground stopped freezing, taking special care not to plant where the men commonly walked lest the delicate white petals be trampled. "You said these papers had to be exact."

Thomas nodded, looking to the blueprints, an amused smile blossoming. "You're right, Little Ruby." He pointed to the pencil still in her grip, prompting her to offer it up, "So let's finish it. Then you go and draw on your own pages, alright?"

Lucy sniffed, then smiled. "Okay, Daddy."

AHAHAH

Shortly before Lucy's fourth birthday, she noticed something was different about her family and the families of the other children she attended nursery school with. The mothers stayed home and let the fathers handle business. The fathers would always come home at the end of the day to take dinners with their families, and they definitely did not have to miss their little girl's birthday party for their coworkers' weekly dinner.

She had asked her mother, but Edith did not know what to say. So, the next morning, she told Thomas that the moment they were most apprehensive about had arrived. Lucy was prompt about it, though. She marched to Thomas as soon as he shut down the "Dinosaur" for lunchbreak, eyes narrowed. "Daddy!" She called, ignoring the men's greetings. "Daddy!"

"Yes, sweetheart?" He replied, grinning at her narrowed face and puckered lips framed by long, textured black hair tied with red ribbons. She looked just like her mother.

"Daddy, why won't you come to my birthday party? All my friends' daddies are coming, why not you?"

The men turned away, suddenly intent on getting their lunch. Edith stepped down from the hammering and sawing within the house, present to aid Thomas in any way, her hand slipping into his to show him so. Thomas guided her to sit at the seat of the welcoming terrace of the house and seated her on his knee while Edith sat behind her so that they could form a strong unit around their daughter. Thomas inhaled, "Daddy cannot go to your party, darling, because Daddy is being punished."

Lucy looked from him to her mother, brushing a black curl from her face. "For what?" She leaned into him and whispered loudly, "Did you forget to take off your work boots in the little house, too?"

He chuckled, "No, sweetheart." His smile faded, "Daddy… well, Daddy did some, very naughty things to people. Including Mummy." He looked to Edith, then looked back to Lucy, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her stockinged knee with nerves. "If you break the law, you be punished for it, yes?"

She nodded, her bouncy black hair bobbing. "Yes. Mr. Gallagher told me that bad men must do good things to make up for the bad things they do. Even if it means," She made a cutting sound and drew her forefinger across her neck.

Thomas nodded, "Yes, darling. Daddy, and the rest of these men in blue clothes, we broke the law. Now we are being punished for it."

Lucy's eyes widened. "You did something bad? So why aren't you in jail?"

"Lucy," Edith cooed, "The reason why you can see Daddy every day is because Mommy made a business deal with the warden from the jail that Daddy is sentenced to. He is supposed to be locked away in there where you wouldn't be able to see him. But, Daddy and these men, Jesse, Santiago, the men you call your uncles, they are permitted to work here, outside of the jail. They are skilled at what they do and so they can be allowed to come out of the jail with the warden's permission, so long as they are watched. That's why you have men like Mr. Gallagher always walking around. He's here to make sure that Daddy and the other men don't escape from their punishment."

Lucy nodded, but her determined face was not going away. She turned to Thomas, "Can't you say you're sorry?"

"It doesn't always work that way, sweetheart." He opened his mouth to say more, then turned to the machine. "Why don't I show you." He pulled her to her feet, took her hand, and lead her to the Dinosaur where the freshly upturned earth oozed a perfect red.

"Thomas, she'll dirty her hands for her lunch!" Edith cried.

"It will only be a moment!" He called over his shoulder. "Come, Lucy. Take only a little bit of clay. I'll take one, too." To Edith's chagrin, they each picked up clumps of clay and rolled them in their palms to make balls, making their flesh equally scarlet. Thomas then told her to put her thumb into the middle of the ball to make a vase, then pinched the inside and out to raise the walls. Then, very gently, Thomas placed both vases into an oven for the vases to bake. While they washed their hands, Edith prepared Lucy's lunch of lamb pasty and garden peas and sliced carrots, listening to her husband instruct her daughter to ask the men what they did to be jailed.

Some men robbed money, others were accessory to murder, swindlers, and other crimes not serious enough for hanging. They all spoke kindly to Lucy, telling her in words that she could understand, even making her laugh at times. But the way she began to look at them, she understood that these men were the worst types of men in society, and she had regarded them as her family. After their lunch, Thomas took Lucy by the hand and led her to the steps where he had taken out the vases to cool.

He held one out to Lucy, letting her admire it in her doll sized hand. "The thing about saying sorry, Lucy, is that you have to promise to stop doing what you said sorry for. Otherwise, it's just another word." He looked at her as she turned the little vase in her hand, "Sometimes, all you need to say is sorry. But, other times, saying sorry comes too late." He gestured to the vase, "You like that?"

She nodded, "It's pretty." She looked at him with a smile, making Edith swear that her eyes were blue crystal and unearthly.

"May I?" He held his hand out, and she plopped the vase into his palm. He closed his hand, then raised his arm suddenly and smashed the vase to the stone steps next to her, making her jump. The small vessel broke with a crack! And obliterated, leaving a spot of red dust and one miniscule shard in it's wake. Edith watched their daughter with heightening nerves and taut back, her daughter had not known such violence from him of all people. Thomas inhaled, then turned to Lucy, suddenly small and utterly helpless looking. "Say you're sorry to the vase."

She looked at the fragments and dust spatter of their quick creation, her face falling, the crystal in her eyes fading. "I'm sorry." The words were hardly audible.

"Did it do anything?" She looked up at him, and shook her head.

Thomas sat on the steps near her, his voice soft. "That's like what Daddy did. I hurt people, I hurt Mummy. Mummy is strong, unbreakable. But, I hurt her feelings, like I hurt yours just now." Lucy looked up at him, eyes wide but ready to burst emotion. Thomas continued, "Other people, I hurt so badly that no amount of sorry will bring them back to how they used to be." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the other clay vase, the one that he made with curved sides to represent a Grecian urn. "Think about that, whenever you want to say something harsh or be very cross with someone. You cannot unbreak a vase once it has been broken."

Lucy was quiet for the rest of the day, turning her vase in her fingers as she thought. Edith tried to engage her, tried to distract her by talking about the design of her must-have music room. Lucy would not be distracted. She sat quietly, watching the men like she had never seen them before. When Thomas kissed her goodbye, Lucy held on to his neck tightly, not wanting to release him. Edith had to come pry her off him so that he could join the paddy wagon, feeling her daughter's pain as he was shackled and loaded into the paddy wagon to go back to the prison barn.

Lucy cried, squirming in her mother's arms and screaming "Daddy! Daddy!" Mr. Gallagher mounted the driver's seat and nodded to the driver, setting off with the prisoners.

Edith set her daughter down and watched as Lucy tried to run after the paddy wagon, tears pounding down her face as though she, too, had never cried as much or as mournful ever before. From her post, Edith could hear a voice calling out to Lucy, one that caught and wailed in the wind. Suddenly, Edith remembered hearing the breath of Allerdale Hall sweep through the shuttered rooms, the breath of sorrow and loss. About a half of a mile from the front steps, Lucy stopped running, realizing that she could not catch up to her father with such small legs. Composing herself, Edith walked to where her daughter stood sobbing, and wrapped her arms around her, both weeping as one for their beloved Thomas.

AHAHAH

Lucy bubbled over the details of her first trip to Carlisle City, following Thomas throughout the freshly finished ground floor and grand staircase, wrapped in her red cloak and trying to ignore the rolling thunder outside. Thomas nodded and let her fill him in on the details, silently thanking God that she would never know a leaking roof in any part of this house.

Mrs. McMichael and Eunice, Alan's family, had given up trying to negotiate with him by post to come home to Buffalo and wrote to inform him that they would be coming to "rescue" him. He had come begging for moral support from Edith and Thomas had encouraged her to take Lucy to Carlisle City as a way of keeping his once potential mother-in-law and betrothed away from his status as a prisoner and to allow the construction of the ground floor and roof to be finished. By having Lucy present with her chattering and novice piano skills, Mrs. McMichael and Eunice were charmed enough to stay away from Allerdale Hall.

When they had returned from the nearly one month holiday, Edith and Lucy arrived to see the house half finished, and habitable for the two of them. The scullery had been made and was employed by a cook; a foyer as big as the one Thomas remembered had been rid of any clay, then built upwards around a magnificent new staircase modeled after the one that had been lost, guarded by a butler and housekeeper. A library that doubled as a music room had been completed, as well as a small, temporary bedroom for Lucy, and a master bedroom for Edith and Thomas. All other parts of the house were still being constructed including a nursery that would serve as a schoolroom, a working office for Edith adjacent to a workshop for Thomas, and a ballroom. Edith's priority was providing a proper bedroom for Lucy, Thomas's was having a roof that kept out the elements.

When Thomas half-listened to Lucy's endless chatter that Monday, work had been halted due to the torrents of rain. They feared flooding in the newest mine shaft, and Edith had sent one of her new servants to instruct Mr. Gallagher that the mines would be closed for safety. But, Thomas had insisted on making this meeting just to see his family return from their holiday.

Once Mr. Gallagher followed his nose to the euphoric scullery, Thomas was told by his chatterbox that Edith was in their bedroom, going over the fine new furniture and folding the freshly laundered linens. When she saw Thomas, Edith ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, interrupting their daughter. "Look at this Thomas! Isn't it beautiful?"

He looked around at the high ceilings and Victorian furniture and smiled, "It is exquisite, Edith. Why Victorian, though? I heard it was out of fashion?"

"I wanted you to remember being at home. It was an old home, but much of the furniture was Victorian in style." She kissed him, making Lucy giggle. "Lucy, I believe it's time for your piano lesson."

"But I haven't shown Daddy my new books, yet!"

"You can show me after your lesson, Lucy." Thomas told her. She pouted and walked away, closing the door to the bedroom behind her; She never argued when Thomas spoke her name. He turned back to Edith and grinned, "How were the McMichael ladies?"

"Just as irksome as always, only more so knowing that Eunice could have been fated to your prior wives. Alan and I kept them at bay, though. They adored Lucy."

"Everyone does, eventually." Thomas smiled, kissing her, slowly adjusting his mouth over hers as he encircled her small waist to feel her breasts against his chest.

She smiled, pulling away. "What was that?"

"Can you blame a man for missing his beautiful wife?"

She laughed shortly, then looked over her shoulder at the bed. "This bed has never been slept in," She told him. "It has never known love of a marriage." She faced him, eyes smoldering. "Is the door locked?"

Thomas released her, striding back to the door to turn the lock with a sudden _click_. When he turned back around, Edith had unbuttoned her blouse and was pulling it from her skirt. Quickly, Thomas kicked off his boots and removed his shirt and trousers, watching his wife reveal herself to him. They met upon their new bed, kissing and caressing the other, enjoying what newness had grown during their time apart. Edith had lost much of her baby weight, but her breasts were bigger, rounder, as were her thighs. Thomas had filled out, gaining muscle upon his arms and chest. His need for her had grown unbelievably strong over their years of celibacy, making his movements less polite, more authoritative. Edith bowed to his wishes, stroking his back with her nails, biting her lip with pleasure at the feel of these new muscles, offering him more of her body in gratitude and lust. They made love, over and over again as though saying that no one would interfere in their love life again. When they finished, Edith collapsed onto Thomas's chest, letting him pull the blankets over them before kissing her again.

"I would commit high treason to lay here for a thousand years." Thomas breathed.

Edith kissed him, "You're here, now." She rested her head on his chest. "What was it like? Making love in the first Allerdale Hall?"

Thomas chuckled. "Cold. No matter where we did it, I was always freezing my arse off."

He brushed the hair from her face, "I didn't know that making love could be tender and warm until I fell in love with you." He chuckled more, "I never told Lucille that I laid with Enola."

Edith sat up and smiled, "Did you?"

He nodded caressing her hand on his chest. "After we wrapped Giovanni in his shroud, I kissed her. I was so distraught and she was so comforting that, it just happened." He dropped his voice and whispered scandalously, "I cheated on Lucille."

"Twice!" Edith whispered, kissing him.

They laughed, then Thomas's smile faded, "You… you haven't seen them, have you?"

Edith shook her head, "No. I ordered books from London about ghosts. One said that they thrive the most in places that have remained the same for ages. I designed the house to be quite different than what they knew. I've even asked Lucy if she's seen anything. Tactfully, of course."

"And?"

"Nothing. Not a single ghost has been seen or heard."

AHAHAH

The rains were unrelenting all week, slowing progress to a halt. Had Edith not needed to speak to Thomas to solidify agreements to commission two more harvesting machines to go mines in India, Mr. Gallagher would not have left his comfortable home to accompany Thomas. Not that he needed to be desperately persuade, since he had begun courting Edith's lady's maid.

Lucy read her letter book aloud before the fire, letting out a terrified squeak with every loud thunderclap, while Thomas read out the agreement in the candlelight. "Fifty thousand for both machines, one to go to Kalinga and the other to Jharkhand. Both are to be purposed for the mining of coal."

"Are you certain of the changes to the machine?" Edith asked, looking over his new blueprints.

"They won't be able to dig into the rock in the deeper mines, those will still have to be done by hand or what machines they do possess. But, it can cut new shafts and dig out rock and coal upon the surface. It can even dig wells in the workers' villages." He pointed to a set of notes meticulously translated to Hindi beneath the English notes. "I see no reason not to proceed."

Edith withdrew the contract from a leather folder and handed them to him, fetching the bottle of ink and fountain pen. Two graceful signatures later, Lucy's future was secured.

"Can I sign?" Lucy asked, lowering her letter book.

Thomas turned to her and smiled, "Not on this one, darling. But, I can promise you something else?"

She jumped up, "What, Daddy? What?"

He strode to her and picked her up, sitting her on his lap on the sofa. "How about a trip to India for your sixteenth birthday?"

"India!" Edith exclaimed, coming over to join them on the sofa. "I've never been there!"

"Can we go, Mummy?" Lucy beamed, porcelain smile wide. "Please?"

"When you're sixteen, mind." Thomas reminded her, touching her nose with his finger, "Not a year younger."

"I see no reason why not." Edith smiled, taking a seat next to them. "I hear it is magnificent."

A thunderclap roared overhead, frightening them all. "Daddy!" Lucy screamed, burying her face into his neck and shoulder.

Edith, heart pounding, looked to her daughter to see her constricted around Thomas's neck while he soothed her in his arms, shooting Edith a glance that suggested help. Chuckling, Edith pulled Lucy off him, "It's alright, sweetheart. It's only the thunder."

"Why is it so loud?" She whined. "It's terribly rude."

Edith looked to the high ceilings, trying to find something suitable to say. "Lucy, did you know what the Vikings believed about thunder?" Thomas told her, drawing both of their attentions. "They believed that the thunder god Thor, son of Odin, was beating his hammer across the heavens. Sometimes he was at war, other times he was at his forge. It seems like he's at war."

"Why does he have to be at war?"

"His half-brother Loki is always causing mischief, sweetheart. Therefore, Thor goes to war."

Another thunderclap, less loud, rang around them. Thomas turned to Edith, face serious, and whispered, "The Greta."

The Greta River, the lifeblood of the Lake District; with such rains, it was impossible to think that it would not overflow it's banks. In such times, all hands were requested to rescue the Lakeland inhabitants. In such times, prisoners liked to escape from work gangs.

Mr. Gallagher walked into the library, seeing the Sharpe family before the fire. "The rain is too much to travel back to town. Would you object to sheltering a guard and his prisoner?"

"Not at all, Mr. Gallagher, so long as you respect the house rules and stay where I have put you." Edith replied.

"Of course, my lady." He stepped out to inform his lady love, grinning widely.

AHAHAH

For three days, the rain pounded the new Allerdale Hall ragged, filling the new mine with water the color of claret. Word had come that the Greta had overflowed, but they could do nothing. Each day, Edith and Thomas offered silent prayers together that none of the prisoners would attempt to escape. If they did, then the warden would recall all contracted work teams to ensure their status as prisoners. So far, only Mr. Gallagher had any contact with the jail. If any of the men spoke about their treatment, then the likelihood of a continuing contract with the Sharpe Clay Mines would quickly disintegrate.

In the meantime, Lucy showed Thomas her world; her smaller room filled with her treasures: books from America, photographs of her and Edith even one of him upon the harvesting machine, and her own sketches that ranged from oblong shaped apples to decent looking rabbits crouched in the grass. Thomas had never entered her room, never even seen the second floor of his new home. Their first supper together as a family, he sat at the head a quiet figure, pampered by the butler as was custom with the head of the house. Edith watched him as he moved, absorbing the sight of the servants fluttering around the completed floors, treating him like a king, using manners that he had filed away until after his prison sentence. At night, after reading Lucy a bedtime story, husband and wife fell into bed together, filling their nights with memories to make up for the evenings they had spent apart.

The last night, when the rain seemed to begin subsiding enough to ride out to the prison barn in the morning, Edith sat pressed close to Thomas on the couch before the fire in their room. Yawning, she sat up, "You're even quieter tonight, darling. What is it?"

"Nothing," He muttered.

She could tell he was lying, "Tell me."

He faced her, a shadow across his features. "I hate all of this."

An arrow shot through to Edith's heart. "What?"

He closed his eyes, "I despise being here. Feeling such happiness, I cannot stand it."

A lump rose in her throat, "How can you say that? We've done so much to make you feel at home."

"I know," He opened his eyes, "I appreciate that. I hate it because, I know it will not last. Look at us," He lifted his hands and looked around their chamber, "We can only be together during inclement weather. I fear letting it be known that I laid with you, lest the men become jealous that I've had the opportunity to be with my wife and they do not. I am torn, Edith. I have been blessed so much that even in my sentence, I have you and little Lucy. But, my fortune is borrowed. Stolen, it feels like."

"Gifted!" Edith protested, moving to him and taking his hand. "Thomas, you have the opportunity to be with your family, something that all of the prisoners would kill to have, regardless of their status with them. You are included in the building of this house-"

"Which I had no say in the design."

She leaned back, "You don't like it?"

He looked up to the high ceilings, taking them in. "It's nice. You did well, but you must understand," He looked back to her, "I'm used to seeing something different upon these lands. I'm used to Medieval gothic revival. Victorian was only in furniture; this is all very modern and I find it quite bizarre."

"The rest of the house hasn't been finished, yet. We can change the design. Your workshop in the attic, they only just put up the walls. You can redesign it. It's yours, I won't mind."

"It's not the workshop, Edith!" Thomas scoffed, squeezing her hand. "It's not the design of the house, it's the feeling of guilt that I have when I return to my bed. I am happy when I should not be," He looked away to the fire, "It won't last."

"Thomas, the only thing that won't last is your jail sentence. You only have two years left, and I would not exchange these years for anything." He faced her. "Your men, when they return to their families, they will be forced to cultivate new relationships with their children from scratch. Your daughter loves you, worships the ground you tread upon. As for feeling guilty, haven't you been guilted into doing things you are uncomfortable with for long enough? Must we also be imprisoned within your mind lest we hurt you further?"

He slid his fingers between hers and pulled her close, his features warming. Though he did not say the words, Edith knew he conceded defeat. He kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear, "Would you mind if I just slept beside you, tonight? I'd like to take in the sight of you."

She looked up at him and he explained, "It's the still moments that I recall the most: Lucy in my arms, you upon my chest. I don't think I've seen us together in this bed, just looking at the other."

Edith smiled and nodded, rising with him for such a simple request. Edith had barely rested her head upon the pillow, looking directly across into his smiling face, when they heard their door open and a fuzzy mop of black hair and blue eyes peeked in. "Are you asleep?" It whispered loudly.

"Not yet," Thomas whispered back.

"Can I sleep with Mummy?"

Edith sat up, "Are the moths bothering you again, sweetheart?" The mop nodded, a small body wrapped in a dressing robe pulling into the room with the movement. Edith turned to Thomas, "Black moths. They beat against her window, trying to get in."

Thomas froze, then said quietly, "They used to do that to Lucille, that's why she started pinning them." He turned to Lucy, "Come on in, darling."

In a flash, she ran into the room, tore off her dressing robe, and jumped into bed with her stuffed elephant under her arm, snuggling next to Edith. "Alright, now calm yourself and go to sleep." Edith told her.

Like blowing out a candle, Lucy found the perfect place for her head and fell asleep regardless of the position it put her mother in. Delicately, Edith adjusted, trying to find some comfort for herself, when she looked up and saw Thomas watching them. His face was the picture of wonder, studying them snuggled together from hair to fingers. When Edith awoke, Thomas's face was still turned to her and Lucy, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

AHAHAH

Edith made a conscious effort to keep her contact with Thomas to a minimum. When they met on Mondays, they spoke mostly of business with only a few moments of intimacy. She limited the number of times she reached out to touch his hand, and he kept his glances respectful, though they both knew the other was in agony. To the prisoners, they knew a change had occurred, but they were uncertain of what exactly. Lucy saw no difference in her parents, only in the frequency of when she saw them.

To the surprise of the prisoners and their guards, the aristocratic Lucretia Charlotte Sharpe was enrolled at the grammar school in Keswick rather than have a private education like her father and late aunt by a trained governess. Unlike other six-year-old children, however, Lucy was driven by private coach with her own governess. She would stay in a boarding house during the week, her governess teaching her proper manners, singing, and dancing when she was done with her regular lessons, and would come home on the weekends and holidays just like Alan. It was on one of these weekends before a holiday that she looked up and said what Alan was thinking, "Mummy, why are you fat? You weren't so big when I left."

Alan's eyes looked over Edith's frame, smiling. He turned to Lucy, "Lucy, it's not nice to call people fat. Especially your mother." He hugged Edith, "How far along are you?" He hissed in her ear.

"Come inside out of this heat, we have lemonade in the solarium." Edith smiled, guiding them inside, away from the onlooking eyes of the prisoners. Once inside and Lucy had run off to her brand-new bedroom with her governess in tow, Edith smacked Alan on the back of the head. "Don't ask prying questions in front of the prisoners! Things are already tense with them and Thomas, they already suspect I'm pregnant."

"They're not stupid," He shot out a hand to touch her stomach, "Please tell me that's not a corset!"

"I'll take it off and go into seclusion next week. We're telling Lucy tonight."

He looked at her, unsurprised. "How far along are you?"

"Six months," She breathed, touching her back and wincing. "This one kicks harder. The maids proclaim another girl but Thomas says a boy."

Alan smiled, "He would know."

Edith rubbed her stomach, thinking of something. "Alan, would you be opposed to serving as godfather?" She looked at him.

He leaned back, "Godfather?"

She nodded, "Thomas and I discussed it. Lucy never had a christening, business was too young. I would like for her to be christened alongside her sibling."

He looked from her to her stomach. "One condition. I would like to see the nursery."

The nursery was a room Edith ensured was not out of her sight. It was painted with scenes from Peter Rabbit, Edith encouraging the artist to play with the art so that under the crib, there would be a mouse's nest, and in a small climbing area for Lucy and for the baby when it grew, there would be a bird's nest. Thomas nearly cried when he saw the design, signing off on it immediately with little changes. Now Alan looked upon it, taking in the love and thought put into the spacious room.

"It's beautiful." He concluded, touching the face of Peter Rabbit on one of the walls.

Edith smiled, "Thank you, Alan."

He looked at her, "What are you thanking me for?"

"Everything. The trial, staying behind when I was pregnant with Lucy, remaining still in England when your home is in Buffalo. Thank you." She stepped toward him, "I know you wanted something more, but, all I can offer is you being a part of this family, officially."

Alan considered her face, studying her, then took her hand and kissed it. "I would be glad to, Edith."

AHAHAH

It was a brisk, autumn Saturday when Edith doubled over her knitting, feeling the seat of her skirt dampen. She moaned, feeling a snake writhe through her middle. She dropped her knitting needles, the clatter bringing a maid's head around the corner.

Alan had barely removed his hat when Thomas came running down the staircase. "She's gone into labor," He called, "This one's different, she wasn't in so much pain before."

They ran upstairs to the nursery where Edith had had prepared a birthing bed, Alan immediately flying to her bent knees while Thomas soothed her with a rag to blot her brow. Alan looked to Thomas, withdrawing his hands from her. "The baby is breach, its coming out bottom first. This labor's going to come slowly, and it shall be painful."

Thomas waited with Lucy in the drawing room, praying incessantly while Alan fondled his wife. Lucy read from the book of Psalms, practicing her reading aloud, providing Thomas with enough of a distraction from his own thoughts. "Daddy," Lucy squeaked suddenly, "Will the new baby take my room?"

He did not want to talk. "No, sweetheart. The baby won't take your room. It shall live in the nursery and then take one of the new empty rooms." She chattered for a while, he responded generally, not giving her much.

"Daddy, want to play with me?"

"No, Lucy. Daddy doesn't want to play."

"Please! You can be the white pieces and I can be the black. Please, Daddy? Pleease?"

"Lucy!" Thomas shouted, whirling on her. The look upon her small features wrenched him back twenty years, seeing Lucille before their father. She didn't know what their father was thinking, the same as Lucy. Thomas inhaled, "Daddy is frightened, Lucy. I do not know if Mummy is going to survive giving birth to the baby. If she does not, then I will still be a prisoner with a little girl in grief and possibly a new baby. I won't be able to come to your aid at night when you miss Mummy or have a nightmare, I will hardly be able to see you. One year is a short time for an adult, but for a child, it's a lifetime. I'm frightened I will hurt you."

Lucy moved from the chess table to her father and put her arms around him. "It's okay, Daddy." Her words were so small, so meek, that the hug she gave to accompany them felt like he was receiving a full pardon. "We will shall endure."

"Yes, sweetheart," Thomas breathed, "We'll have each other to help endure."

Three hours later, Alan entered the drawing room. "The baby is born, but he had a knot tied in the cord."

"How are they?" Thomas asked, ice dropping into the pit of his stomach.

"It's too early to tell if they will make it." Alan swallowed, his eyes beginning to shimmer, "If we have one come morning, it will be a miracle."

Thomas turned to Lucy, pulling her close. "I think we ought to call the Vicar, sweetheart."

Her eyes shimmered, her black hair seeming to have a mind of its own as her thoughts grasped the concept of death. "Is Mummy going to die?"

"We're not certain, Rosie." Alan told her, taking a knee. "Everything can be well, but everything might not. I will call the Vicar like you Daddy requests to help us get through this uncertain time."

For hours, Thomas was unapproachable. He prayed with the Vicar incessantly, walking to and fro in the drawing room, begging God to keep his wife and son alive. Mr. Gallagher stayed in the house while the prisoners were taken back, not giving a hint to the new tensions. When Lucy was taken away to supper along with the Vicar, Thomas and Alan were left alone in the drawing room.

Thomas looked up, seeing Alan stare at him. "What?"

"Our girl's going to make it. She has to."

Thomas smirked, "She hasn't given anything up in her entire life, has she?"

Alan cocked his head to the right, "Well, maybe people's opinion in society."

Thomas chuckled. "You love her still, don't you? That's the reason you haven't married yet?"

Alan nodded. "I am courting a young lady in Carlisle, but I do not regard her with the safe affection as I do Edith. I have loved her since I was a child, but was told it was unbecoming to make my affections widely known. Therefore, I kept my distance, writing two letters instead of one while I was at school in London. She knew I had some feelings for her, but, she didn't know how deep they were." He looked away, "Seeing her with you boiled my skin for the longest time."

"You think I walked upon silk when I saw her with you? Knowing that she shared a kiss with you?"

Alan smiled, "That gives me pleasure, I won't deny it. But, the fact remains that she always wanted you. We kissed, but she always put me in my place. She never regarded me as more than a parakeet."

Thomas stood, "You were more than that. As her husband, I sincerely thank you for being there for her." He walked away before his punching arm could begin twitching.

Early in the morning, Edith's service bell twinkled, awakening Thomas and her maids as they slept in chairs inside and outside her room. Thomas rushed into her room, finding a maid by her bedside. Edith sat on her bed, holding her son in a green hand knit blanket, a tired smile on her face as the baby wiggled in her arms. "Can a girl get some darjeeling tea around here?"

Thomas Carter Sharpe the Second was christened two weeks later beside his sister in the local church, attended by Cumberland society.

AHAHAH

It was the longest year of Thomas and Edith's life, the year Lucy turned seven. Adding newer men to the clay mines added resentment to the prisoners with few remembering when Lucy toddled around in the mud. Whippings and Sunday labor became regular, and Thomas became coarser though his devotion to his family never faded.

More often, parties were held with the families of Lucy's friends and Edith's business partners and their families in the gardens behind the house. Edith would invite more and more socialites to come from their estates outside of the big cities to come and accept Lucy into the fold of high society, exposing her to a future that befitted her station. The prisoners would watch families in gold trimmed carriages and automobiles drive up to the front steps while they worked. Social visits for the Sharpe women went farther than Carlisle; York, Manchester, Leeds, though they waited on London until Thomas could join them. To prepare for such visits, Edith would wait for hours while dresses from Paris were fitted for her and Lucy, Thomas even standing for one fitting so that tailor-made suits could be made in his absence, ready to be donned when he arrived. Even for his son, clothes were measured and made by fine tailors.

Young Thomas was blue eyed, blond haired, and arguably more active than his sister. Lucy would play with him, teaching him to grab items long before she ever could. She was also highly protective of him, only allowing one friend at a time to come and see him in his pram. When he was not being guarded by his sister, he was his father's pride and joy, being held and paraded around the harvesting machine and the clay mines. Though Young Thomas could not possibly know what was going on, his smile would always break through, and his laugh could heal broken bones. The prisoners who could remember Lucy fawned over him, making sure that whenever the Sharpe children were present, they were always safe.

Then, one fine week in May, Mr. Gallagher drove Thomas back to the jail in Carlisle City. Three days he spent in the iron prison away from his family, keeping silent on the daily events at Allerdale Hall to anyone who asked to confirm a rumor of fantastical treatment by a scraggy skeleton in pinstripe. Three long days later, he received his prison release documents and walked through a set of gates, unaccompanied for the first time in seven years.

He wore his work suit with his blue velvet one wrapped in parcel paper under his arm, ready to be donated to a museum or burned. The black, iron gates opened and he stepped out, inhaling the delicious air. Butterflies tickled his stomach as he stepped forward, and joy, pure, unfiltered joy flowed through his veins when he looked out across the street and saw Edith, Lucy, and Young Thomas sitting in an open carriage waiting for him. Edith leaned forward and whispered to Lucy, sending her flying from the carriage to her father screaming, "Daddy! Daddy!"

Thomas dropped his parcel and scooped her up in his arms, crushing her close to his chest. "Do you get to come home now?" She asked in his ear.

He faced her, feeling a lump rise in his throat as his cheeks soaked. "Yes, sweetheart. Daddy gets to come home, now."

"Is Mr. Gallagher coming?"

Thomas laughed, the feeling lifting his body unlike anything he had felt in the past years. "No, darling. Not unless he continues working with the jail." He kissed her cheek. "Let's go to Mummy, now."

Edith stood, baby in her arms. "Ready to come home?"

He smiled and adjusted Lucy. "Like you'll never believe."

She smiled so much she began to laugh, taking her seat as he climbed into the carriage, leaning over to kiss him. To taste a smile is unlike any pleasure available for purchase; For Edith and Thomas to kiss knowing that their time together was not limited to contracts, inclement weather, or childbirth, was such a sublime feeling that they almost forgot the baby in her arms until Lucy jumped up and down screeching that they were squishing him.

Thomas leaned back, seated next to his wife, and took his son from her. "Let's go home."

AHAHAH

Christmas Eve, Allerdale Hall, 1909

Thomas watched as Edith pulled her white silk gloves over her elbows, dressed in a sweeping gold gown embroidered with jeweled butterflies and golden roses at the hem of the skirt and rose along her legs to the knees. Across her breasts were lovely beaded crystals, and draped pearl sleeves adorned her shoulders. From her neck hung a lovely pink pearl rose necklace that Thomas had given her for this party, and in her hair were placed lovely hairpins of gold and genuine diamonds.

She turned to Thomas and laughed, "Darling, you'll never put your gloves on like that!"

He looked down to his hands and laughed with her when he realized he was trying to shove his middle finger into the thumb of his own white silk glove. He looked back at her and smiled, "I was distracted."

She smiled and stood while he quickly donned his gloves. "How smart you look, Thomas."

He dropped his hands and approached her, "How ravishing you are, Lady Sharpe." He kissed her. "Must we go down?"

She giggled, "Exactly my thoughts." She kissed him, touching his neck. "I have a craving for those yule log cakes, so we might as well."

He smiled and tucked her arm under his, then led her down the corridor to the staircase. The main staircase was an immaculate winding centerpiece, though this night it was partially blocked by two impossibly high Christmas trees decorated with candles and glass ornaments. Firs tied with red ribbons draped the bannisters, filling the air with a heavy scent of evergreen and potpourri spices. Everywhere they looked, light illuminated, highlighting the scarlet rugs, the candelabras, the regular sized Christmas trees, and the silver punch bowls meticulously placed and guarded by a servant in a black suit or dress with white apron. The foyer was to serve as the concert hall and dancing floor for their one hundred guests, a half orchestra assembling before the stone fireplace that read "Ad montes oculos levavi." The dining room, adjacent to the ballroom, would house an impossibly long table that had to be specially made for this event and set with a full dinner placement of fine, bone china trimmed in gold. Once downstairs, Edith turned to the butler who was in charge of overseeing the dining area. He nodded once, making her smile; All was ready in the dining room. They entered the foyer, gasping when they saw the magnificent sight of completely decorated house.

"It's so beautiful!" Edith cried, casting a glance to the housekeeper who nodded.

A tear escaped Thomas's eye. "It's just like when I was a boy."

Edith turned to him and grinned, "I know." He looked at her, "Mr. Eagerton helped me. We found a photograph negative of a picture taken when you were a child of the last Christmas party. I made all this look like that picture so that I could give you my Christmas present." She called for the butler and a maid to pry Lucy from the orchestra, and the governess. The butler arrived carrying a tripod mounted with a camera, Lucy prancing forth. Edith turned to Thomas, "Merry Christmas, my darling." She kissed him, laughing with joy when he pulled her into his chest with a constricting embrace.

"I love you!" He breathed, kissing her cheeks.

They held each other until the pitter patter of Lucy's excited feet ran towards them. "Daddy! Can I stay and watch the ball? Please?"

Lucy wore a red dress with white bows and white stockings. Her wild black hair was tamed by a simple crystal headband that lit her pale features and blue eyes even more. As for her brother, he watched with wide eyed curiosity as his governess carried him through the house, wearing an adorable navy and white sailor's outfit and knitted booties. Edith took him, making him smile as though he knew what event was about to take place. Meanwhile, Lucy continued negotiations with Thomas.

"Eight o'clock is a good time for little girls to dress for bed, Lucy. You don't want to be cross come morning when we open presents."

"But, but! That means I only have one hour to show the guests my pretty new dress!"

"Then you shall have to show your dress to as many people as possible, darling! And I have just the way to do it!" He took her by the hand and gestured to the butler with his camera. "We shall have a portrait made of this photograph and have it hang in the library above the big fireplace. You know the one, the apples, mountains, owls look up fireplace by the orchestra."

Edith laughed into Young Thomas's neck, making him giggle. "Alright everyone, eyes on the birdie!"

Thomas wrapped his arm around Edith's waist while a hand rested upon Lucy's shoulder. The butler, having practiced with a bear hand puppet, called Young Thomas's attention while fiddling with the dials on the camera. A flash of gunpowder and the butler stepped back, coughing and smiling. "All is good, your graces."

Edith nuzzled Young Thomas's hair cooing to him as he looked about the shimmering lights. The footmen began scrambling around the foyer, and she called the governess to take her son. "You may allow Lucy to peer over the side of the bannisters watching us until nine o'clock." She instructed the girl, "After that, please read her the Nativity story from the Bible. Let her know this celebration is for the birth of our Savior, not Father Christmas. Young Thomas is to be placed in his bed right away. I can manage Lucy while you're away."

"Yes, Lady Sharpe." She gave a short curtsy and stepped away.

In moments, the foyer was filled with Cumberland's and Yorkshire's most fashionable socialites, peeling off layers of mink lined with silk to reveal the latest and greatest in Paris and London fashions. They greeted Thomas and Edith, nodding to Lucy with some of the ladies handing her small gifts wrapped in bright tissue paper. Regardless of how finely dressed or how influential the person was, they all gasped when they looked upon the new and complete Allerdale Hall dressed in its Christmas best. "How wonderful the manor looks, Sir Thomas, Lady Edith!" Lady Richardson, the mother of Lucy's best friend, complimented, eyes dazzling.

The orchestra played Chopin's best waltzes and the servants carried out glasses of warmed spiced wine and champagne, the smells of smoked salmon, roasted partridge and quail, sweet ham, chicken, and boiled lobster teasing the guests. When the guests peeked into the dining room, they saw peaches, nectarines, and specially imported jams and biscuits arranged into ornamental bowls. In a half hour, all one hundred and fifteen guests had arrived and were greeting each other, eagerly awaiting the start of the dancing. Edith looked up at the ornate gold ormolu clock, finding it only moments before Lucy was to retire for bed.

Gently, she tapped Thomas's shoulder. "Thomas, it's almost time for Lucy to depart."

He nodded, then turned to his glowing daughter. She knew at once, but had learned enough manners to not have a tantrum in public.

Facing the crowd, Thomas cleared his throat, "Ladies and gentlemen, if I may beg your indulgence for a moment." The crowd fell silent, Edith unable to contain her smile, moved to the front of the crowd. "Now, it is tradition for the host to open the dance with the hostess. But, the best hostess is proven to be the one with the most practice. It is my obligation to provide such practice to the next generation." He moved his body to Lucy, and smiled, holding out his gloved hand. "Come, sweetheart." He took her hand and led her to the dance floor, "How would you like to open the dancing with Daddy?"

Immediately, her face brightened. "R-really?"

He smiled and nodded, walking to the orchestra and requesting the children's folk song that they had been practicing during the days they were snowed into the house, making the guests chuckle as she beamed. "Maestro, if you please."

The orchestra began playing a lively tune. Arms held out wide to accommodate the height difference, they swayed together on the dance floor grinning at each other. Lucy was a quick study when it came to music, either dancing to it or playing it. Her feet made noise, but her steps were light and fast and she had no trouble reading her father's lead. Edith watched her husband and daughter dance, feeling as though their adoration for each other made up her heart.

For a moment, she remembered Lucille and how desperate she was to be loved. Thomas had told her that she liked to dance, but only with him. Her talent for the piano came from a desperate need to express her passion. She had been despised by her father, forced to do horrible things because of it. Lucy could never be loved had Lucille not been so hated. Thomas loved his daughter and showered her with affection because he knew what it was like for a child to want the love of a parent.

They spun into a finale and bowed to each other, causing the guests to clap profusely and Lucy to beam until Edith was certain her cheeks hurt. Thomas kissed her knuckles and whispered into her ear, prompting her to curtsy and scamper to her mother. "Good night, Mummy."

"Good night, sweetheart!" Edith cried, kneeling to hug and kiss her.

"Good night!" Lucy rang out, waving to the guests. They echoed her, allowing her to depart from them and scamper up the stairs where her governess was waiting to escort her.

Smiling, the guests turned back to their host who beckoned his hostess to the dance floor. "May I have this dace, my Lady?"

"You may," She grinned.

Together, they walked to the nearest Christmas tree and removed a candle as the orchestra began another waltz, their guests following their lead. Suddenly, Edith's heart skipped a beat and she turned to Thomas, "Our song!"

He smiled, leading her back to the dance floor. "I know." He pulled her into the proper hold, then guided her back with simple steps, making the delicate flame flicker to blue, but not going out. Their gazes were confident, knowing this dance in their sleep for having dreamt of this song for so long. To dance, to this very waltz, in this moment, with each other was a fantasy that was so fragile neither wanted to speak it aloud. Though they hadn't realized it, they knew that they had been living for this moment since they met eight years ago. They had lived in darkness out of sheer desperation to find scraps of the truth. Now, love illuminated around them in the form of white taper candles fluttering in the hands of hundreds of dancers. Had their love not prevailed, none of their new lives would have been possible. In this new home, clay did not seep in, the roof did not let in the elements, and love was not controlling.

Edith cried once the song ended, though her smile remained. "What is wrong, my darling?"

She looked at Thomas and wiped her eyes with her glove. "This is everything I hoped our life would be like when I married you." She cupped his face, stroking his cheek. "We've been through so much, I'm frightened its not real."

Thomas leaned into her hand and smiled. "This is our life, Edith. The four of us in our home. Let there be no dispute about that." He kissed her palm. "Come now, dance with me."

He led her to dance more waltzes, quadrilles, and were even introduced to a new dance from South America called the "tango." Before long, the butler spoke to the orchestra conductor and halted the dances in favor of supper. As the guests made their way to the lavish dining room, Thomas grabbed Edith by the waist and kissed her.

Thomas cupped her cheeks and smiled. "I thank God each day you pulled me into the elevator."

Edith smoothed his vest with her fingers. "I thank God you chose me." She kissed him. "Come, before the lobster disappears."

Together they walked where dozens of eyes waited for them, giggling together as they heard the governess call out for Lucy to abandon her post and come to bed.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

May 1902, Banchory, Scotland

Nordrach-on-Dee Sanatorium

Edith stretched her cramped hands, hardly able to feel in the tips of her fingers. She had typed the last period, now all she needed to do was write the penultimate words. She sighed, then shrugged. Carefully, she punched the keys that spelled out, "The End." That was it, she finished her tale of what… she looked away. "What could have been," She breathed, "If he…"

She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing for the zenith time the chalk white face of Thomas, a stream of brown smoke emitting from his cheek, gold eyes soft, the machine that had arranged such horrors breathing its last behind him. Except, when she saw him this time, that face didn't hurt her to look upon it. Edith took the final page from her typewriter, making it _zing!_ and placed it on top of the stack of pages next to her to be properly arranged later when she corrected misspelled words. She had a feeling, small as it was, that Thomas was pleased with her for writing him a justified life, even if it was in fiction. She smiled, placing a hand on her bulging stomach. Finally, after months of battling her thoughts, she was at ease thinking that he could be contented.

She whirled around, alarms ringing in her head at the sound of footsteps near her door, her hand shooting out to protect her manuscript. A knock sent her heart hammering against her breast, and her baby began kicking wondering what disturbed its mother so. "Lady Sharpe? May I come in?"

Nurse Fox, Edith thought. "Yes, Nurse. You may come in." She heaved herself to her feet and moved to block her manuscript from view.

The door scratched with an unlocking key, then Nurse Fox, the kind, portly nurse around Edith's age, stepped in followed by Alan. "It's teatime, and I've brought your wheelchair."

"Is it already?" Edith asked, her hand flying back to feel her manuscript as though it had disappeared once the door opened. I haven't hidden it, She panicked. I need to hide my manuscript!

"Hard at work, Edith?" Alan smiled, coming toward her. Edith felt a pang of bitterness towards him. He can smile while I'm confined to the nursery, Her thoughts knifed.

"Yes, Alan." She leaned back almost sitting on her writing desk. "I have a lot of work to do. Just one more paragraph before tea."

Alan looked at her typewriter, seeing it stand empty before looking at her. He leaned in close and whispered, "You finished it?"

She glanced at Nurse Fox as she fetched Edith's hat before answering. "Just now. She and Nurse Andrews have been trying to find it to report to Dr. Turner, they want to take my baby from me!"

"Calm down," Alan commanded, taking her elbows and kissing her forehead. "I've got it. Nurse Fox?" The massive woman turned, "Would you mind bringing the tea here? Edith's not feeling up for an outing today and I wouldn't want to pressure her. I'll open the Sunny Corner and we can have fresh air without forcing Edith to sit in that awful wheelchair."

Nurse Fox showed a shadow of displeasure at the thought of not being able to park Edith at her usual outdoor tea table and run back up to read her manuscript, but it faded instantly. "Certainly, Dr. McMichael."

When she left, Alan did his duty and moved to the rounded, window seating area and opened the windows, letting in the breeze and the singing rooks, the faint smell of the garden hydrangeas wafting in. From this suite, Edith could see clumps of white and yellow meadow flowers growing over the grass, roses blooming furiously in ornate, red bricked ovals. "There we go, outside inside." He faced her, face alight and glittering, watching her guard her baby with one hand and her manuscript with the other. "Will I be able to read the new chapter?" He removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. "Last I read, Thomas had been sentenced to prison and you were about five months pregnant. Was it a troublesome pregnancy?"

Edith felt a sting in her chest, but reminded herself that he was only referring to a character in her own story. She said nothing, but waddled to the Sunny Corner and sat back, welcoming the relief of proper lumbar support.

"How is the baby?" Alan asked, taking a seat next to her. "Kicking yet?"

"Not yet." She lied, straining her ears to hear for the nurses.

"Not yet?" He sighed, "Edith, if this continues, I might have to take you to London for an advanced checkup or maybe even an X-Ray. The baby might be stillborn, and if that's case then carrying to term might be detrimental to your sanity."

"More than it already is?" She looked at him, digging her thumbnail into her forefinger to avoid showing her baby's movement. She tried to focus on the elation of the thought of leaving the Sanatorium, away from book barriers and medical arrogance. Six hours alone with him on a train was welcome any day.

Alan smirked, then gestured to her typewriter. "You said you were finished?"

"Over a hundred pages!" She beamed, looking to it as well. "Do you think I can get it published?"

Alan's smirk faded and he adjusted in his chair. "Edith, I don't think it would be good for publication just now."

Her heart fell, mind begging his medical patronization to stay away. "You don't like it?"

"Oh, I like it very much! I think you're a fantastic writer, Edith, but I'm concerned about the audience's perception of it." He looked at her, "You start the story where you feel the most guilt in your personal account of what really happened. The moment you thought you could have saved Thomas."

"I could have saved him, Alan!"

"I know," He said calmly, his eyes panicking. "You have over one hundred pages of ways that you could have saved him. You're so strong, Edith!" He smiled, though his eyes were not genuine. "I cannot get over how strong you are. But, as it stands, this story only makes sense to you."

Edith looked to the stack of triumph and felt her innards char to ash. Had she wasted the last five months?

"But… there's a simple remedy for that." She looked at him. "You could write the truth. You could tell the world what really happened, then include the dozens of ways you became the knight in shining armor."

At once, the rising horror of the decaying mansion came to mind. The mansion covered in blood. "What do you mean, the truth?"

"What if you told the world what really happened to you in Allerdale Hall? From the moment you met Thomas to the moment you fought Lucille, and won. You did it once, in your story. Can you do it again? Only this time allow us to read it?"

She could see him, her handsome husband trapped in that godless horror house. She closed her eyes, begging her mind to stop seeing his body on the mortuary table, face broken from where he was murdered. "Thomas is dead," She shivered, her bottom lip quivering.

Immediately, Alan was at her feet, pulling her close. "Edith, he lives in your pages. You gave him life, you gave him back his innocence. He is yours, now."

"He's gone!" She shrieked, doubling over.

Alan caught her, letting her cry into his shoulder. "I know, I know, darling. But he died trying to save you. He loved you, and he would have loved your baby!"

She cried for moments, wailing into his neck as Alan rocked her back and forth. He was gone. Sir Thomas Sharpe, her husband, was gone. She sniffed, listening to Alan tell her muffled platitudes, but not hearing them. He was right. She did have Thomas with her.

"Alan," She cried.

He faced her, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. "Yes, darling?"

"I want to see his grave. I want to say goodbye to him." She hadn't been allowed to attend his funeral due to the amount of poisoning and the loss of one of her babies. Carrying twins, both in separate birth sacks, a son went with his father into the grave while another surprised her and shocked her mental sanity that led Alan to take her to a sanatorium for the wealthy to regain her sanity. Edith had been in such a fragile state that no doctor in one hundred miles would allow her to leave for the funeral. Instead, she wrote a love letter to her husband, read aloud by the village Vicar in her stead. She swallowed, tasting salt. "I want to see my husband's grave."

Alan cupped her cheeks, "I'll have a talk with Dr. Turner. You should be able to, but I want to be clear with him first."

"He wants to take my baby." Edith hissed, "He wants to be regent of Allerdale Hall." She had heard some of the tuberculosis patients, two lawyers, discussing it before she had been confined to her suite for "sleepwalking." Wealthy, insane widows with children who were committed to asylums would have a regency established over the widow's estate by their doctors, often filling their pockets and abusing or removing the insane widow's children in the process. "Doctor Turner wants to take my home and my money."

"Over my dead… I won't allow it, Edith." Alan grinned, "Now, how about a spot of tea?"

EEEEEE

Edith pressed her ear into the water glass as Alan gave his review of her manuscript to Dr. Turner. If, for whatever reason, it did not pass the doctor's muster, she would be forced to remain in the Sanatorium until she gave birth, then likely be committed to an asylum, leaving Dr. Turner as regent of her freshly inherited property. The only way that she could avoid being committed would be if she was released or got married. But marriage was so far from her mind that she often felt at the bottom of a well, growing a baby like growing mushrooms. She inhaled and held her breath, determined to hear each word she wasn't entrusted with with clarity.

Alan tapped something, likely the stack of pages of the latest chapter. "Excellently written. She named her daughter Lucretia Charlotte Sharpe, or rather, Thomas did. They call her Lucy, which -and this is a stretch- if you look at the name 'Lucille' in French is pronounced 'Lucy'. She accounted for Thomas's probable want to make amends with his sister by giving her the life she should have had. Edith is present in her child's life, and presents herself as a matriarch much in the way her father was patriarch. She is loving, protective. She is practicing motherhood on paper."

"Any mention of the miscarried child?" Dr. Turner's voice asked.

"No, but she and Thomas have a second child. A son named after his father." He chuckled, "I'm even made godfather of this second baby."

"A privilege." Dr. Turner commented, "And about the family? How do they take to Thomas's incarceration?"

"Edith arranges for Thomas to work on the harvesting machine making bricks and tiles through a contract with the jail for hard laborers. He's incarcerated, but he can be present for his wife and daughter. His son is a baby when he finishes his sentence. They have a photograph taken of them as a family during a Christmas Eve ball, all four of them. The book ends with Lucy going to bed and Thomas thanking Edith for saving him."

"Which means that she is still feeling guilty about that one moment when she did not pull him into the elevator with him and therefore rescuing her husband."

"I don't think she's ever going to forgive herself for that, Dr. Turner." Alan sighed, "But, she was at least willing to entertain the notion of writing the truth. I think I can get her to do that."

"How so?"

"She… she wants to see his grave. I honestly believe that that is the last bit of closure she needs to accept that she couldn't do anything to save him. She needs to accept that." He hesitated, "She also knows that Nurse Fox and Nurse Andrews are spying on her through her manuscript. She has a fonder light of Nurse Fox, but Nurse Andrews constantly makes her anxious. She also believes that you are trying to establish a regency if you commit her to an asylum."

"I do not revel in that information, Dr. McMichael, but that would be the state of affairs if she was committed to asylum. So far, I see no reason to do that. Writing has certainly helped her but, like you said, she still feels greatly guilty over the thought that she somehow could have saved her husband."

Edith peeled away from the glass, hearing movement in her sitting room, footsteps and swishing skirts. No, She thought, They're not done yet!

Dr. Turner was speaking, "Do you truly believe she can handle going to Sir Sharpe's grave? He is buried next to his sister."

"I'll drape my jacket over Lady Lucille's grave if need be. But, I think she's ready. I'm hoping that seeing his grave will convince her to write the truth about what happened to her at Allerdale Hall. From there, we can treat her for war horrors instead of fighting for her sanity."

Dr. Turner hesitated, making slow, deliberating footsteps around the consultation room conveniently joined to Edith's suite. Edith rolled her eyes, Come on, Doctor!

"Are there any more mentions of ghosts, Dr. McMichael?"

"Not really. She writes that Thomas asks if she has seen any ghosts in the new house, but she says no. Apparently, when the old house burned, it took with it whatever was keeping the ghosts housed there. There is no further mention of ghosts, not even to tell Lucy of what Edith thought she saw when she was a child.

"Although, I do have to mention that, it is rather incredible to believe that Edith found those wax cylinder recordings by herself during a moment of hysteria. She would have no business in that corridor. Everything regarding the living comforts was on the ground floor or near the bedrooms. Edith would have no business going there."

"She admitted herself that she would become impossibly bored during certain hours of her stay."

"Yes, but wouldn't it make sense for her to start looking either at the bottom or at the top? I saw that corridor myself, it did not look to be occupied from where Edith had frequented on her brief ventures down there. That means that not even the Sharpe siblings had reason to go there. If they taught her immediately to not go down that corridor just by their actions of inhabiting the other areas for convenience, then why would she have reason to go?" There was a pause, then Alan continued. "I'm not saying that I believe in ghosts, but the supernatural has been documented in various medical cases. The word 'ghost' was not strictly used, but the supernatural was not ruled out, either. I'm saying that we should at least consider that something fantastical happened that us men of science cannot explain."

"In which case much of our preoccupations with Lady Sharpe's sanity would be for naught and she was just overcoming war horrors."

Alan must have been nodding. "I wouldn't mind being wrong if it meant getting this diagnosis right, if it's not too personal to say."

Dr. Turner sighed, "I will allow Lady Sharpe a seven day pass to Cumberland."

Edith clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. She could see him! She could leave the sickeningly sweet confinement of her lavish suite to see her husband's grave. She jerked her head around and heard the person in her other room calling her name softly. Edith heaved herself to her feet and waddled as quickly as possible to the window bench drenched with sunlight, sat down, balanced her glass on the cushion, and rested her head on the window pane as though she had fallen asleep, blocking her eyes from the sunlight. Her eyes had barely closed when the wicked old matron walked in.

"Lady Sharpe, what are you doing here?" Nurse Andrews demanded softly.

Edith ignored her, counting the seconds she held her breath to make it appear that she was asleep.

Nurse Andrews sighed and shook her forearm. Edith shook her head and opened her eyes halfway, "Oh, Nurse Andrews! Forgive me, I was..." She looked down at her glass.

"Lady Sharpe, what have I told you about watering the cat bowl from the drain pipe?" She chastised, eyeing the glass. "Come along, Lady Sharpe. To bed with you."

EEEEEE

The train to Cumberland was sublimely welcome to Edith. Forgetting the rolling hills, being able to leave the rooms she was constantly locked in, watched by the nurses and patients who wondered who was the pretty blonde widow in the suite and what ailed her enough to be locked away, was a godsend! It rained when she and Alan left Banchory to Aberdeen via horse drawn bus, and rained even more when they boarded the train to Edinburgh to Carlisle City.

Alan refused to shut up. Somehow, he believed that constantly talking to Edith would soothe her from the shock of the tragedy that was seeing her husband's and son's grave. She let him believe that for nearly an entire day before turning to him eventually and sighing, "Alan, darling, do shut up. Your tactic of keeping me distracted by talking has failed, so rest your lungs and let me have some silence."

They stayed in the fine hotel Edith recorded in her manuscript, smiling that she could not find a way to describe it any better. What stole her smile, however, was Alan's sneaky theft of her room key. When the maids left from unpacking her luggage, she whirled on him, "May I have my key, please?"

Alan hesitated, "I'm just holding it for you. Keeping it safe."

Edith held out her hand, forcing herself to ignore the aghast face of the controlling Lucille in her mind. "May I have my key, please?"

Alan looked at her hand, holding both keys in his grip. "Why are you persistent?"

"Because this is my room!" She declared, stepping forward. "I want the key to my room paid for with my own money so that I can lock out the world or welcome it in as I choose!"

Lucille's porcelain face came to mind, speaking for Alan, "You don't need one. There are parts of this house that are unsafe. It will take you a few days to familiarize yourself. Then, should you still feel you still need them, I'll have copies made." She never did, she only gripped them tight and pulled them away from Edith.

Edith shook her head and cut off Alan, "Please, Alan. I need my key. I need it, I need my key."

Slowly, he surrendered her room key. Immediately, she turned and jammed the key into the lock, turning it until she saw the bolt stick out like a firm arm and back. She exhaled and issued a quick, "Thank you." She stepped aside from her door, letting the silence speak for her.

Alan lifted his chin, understanding clearly. "I will be right across the hall if you need me, darling." He told her, eyes not meeting hers. Slowly, he turned his heel and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Edith whirled around once again to the door and fell to her knees, jabbing her eye into the keyhole to watch him. The floor butler was coming out of his room, proud and erect in his penguin tails, assuring him in a low voice that his room was ready for the dwelling. Alan hesitated, turning halfway towards the butler, pondering something. Edith gripped the doorknob, bracing herself for it, the request to keep an eye on her; she was almost certain that was what her rudeness would sow. Suddenly, Alan shook his head. "If you would bring me the menu for tonight, I would like to look over the options."

"Certainly, sir." The butler nodded. "Anything else?"

Alan shook his head, "That will be all for now."

"Very good, sir."

Then Alan went into his room, without asking anyone to watch over her like a naughty child.

EEEEEE

Allerdale City

Cumberland Cemetery

Alan had had a lunch basket prepared with all of her favorites as though they were going on a social picnic in Buffalo. A bottle of Madeira, lunch meats, thin slices of bread, choice cheeses, and a jar of hot soup were tantalizing thoughts to Edith as they were driven to the cemetery. She had been on a strict diet according to Nurse Andrews's and Doctor Turner's instructions with Alan bringing her packets of chocolate covered biscuits as a treat.

She remembered the last picnic she attended. It was a bright and sunny day in Buffalo, she wore a light, white shirt and gold skirt, encircled by her favorite belt of two clasped hands over her navel and carried a parasol. Thomas had worn all black, but smiled brilliantly while he read her original manuscript, the one that Lucille had burned. Thomas had loved her story, praising it in specific detail rather than one or two items every now and then as Alan had done. Now it was her turn to wear black and smile at what joys came her way.

"Are you ready?" Alan asked, gripping his seat. He wore a black armband due to his position as a non-family member. His eyes were filled with concern and he leaned forward slightly, forgetting about the lunch basket, even his hat.

Edith nodded, "I want to see him one last time. Even if it's only his grave." She closed her eyes, "Did you name my son?"

Alan nodded, "Carter, like your father. I figured you wanted Thomas for this little one." He gestured to her stomach. "Edith, I was wondering, if you are released completely from the sanatorium, or… simply did not return, would you like to have the baby in England or in America?"

Edith's thought's obliterated and she sat up gradually, "You would allow me to leave the sanatorium?"

"You are very much in your faculties away from the stress of spies and confinement. As your personal physician, I could remove you if I see that your health is improving to the point of independence." He shot her a hard look, "That is if I think you can handle it. So, what will it be for your baby? America or Britain?"

Edith rubbed her stomach, "I want him close to his heritage." She closed her eyes for a moment, "I was even wondering about having him in Allerdale Hall."

"Edith, I've never birthed a child. Don't even think that because you wrote me as a cultured physician, I could birth your baby. And given the nightmares that you've had of the house, you honestly desire to return?"

She shrugged, "I was only entertaining a thought."

Alan nodded and looked out the sides of the carriage, watching the hills roll by. "It must have been magical when you came here as a bride."

Edith nodded, "I was in love. I was willing to overlook a great many things to help Thomas build his machine." She added quietly, "It almost broke me."

"I would really like to know what happened. What was Thomas's role in this scheme? You made it seem like he was the bait and Lucille was the parasite."

Edith nodded, "He was a dreamer. He wanted to stand on his own two feet with me by his side. But she took him from me. She thought that there was only one mistress of Allerdale Hall and I wasn't it." She fell silent as they rode over the top of a hill and looked down on the iron gated cemetery, dotted with tall, mortuary obelisks.

Alan followed her gaze and looked over his shoulder. He swallowed, then turned around. "I will escort you in as I attended the funeral in your absence. I made sure your son had a proper headstone, Edith. His name is below Thomas's, father and son."

At the mention of her other child, the bump in her belly summersaulted, nearly making her double over in surprise.

"It's moving, isn't it?" Alan looked to her stomach with a face akin to someone overseeing a daily routine.

Edith looked at him and nodded, "I've felt movement for several months now."

He nodded with a smirk. "I always figured you were lying. No one clenches their fists at random intervals unless they were feeling something internally."

Edith rubbed her belly, "Its like it knows where we are. Like it's calling out to it's twin."

Alan nodded and looked away, likely fighting the urge to correct her with medical nonsense. They drove for several moments more, taking them passed countless tombstones; Marble and granite obelisks, small round arches, and extraordinarily thin ones that was the style of the 1700s and earlier. Even grandiose crypts of various colors to house coffins and urns labelled with family names and ornate coats of arms. As for Thomas, he and Lucille were buried in the Sharpe family plot, a quartered off section with red brick walls. The imposing center focus of this particular section that made it uniquely grandiose was a great black crypt carved with the family motto, "Mors omnes vincit." Edith swallowed, "Death conquers all."

"Despicable motto, if you ask me." Alan commented. He looked at Edith and sighed, "Would you like for me to escort you?"

She shook her head, "I would like to do this alone, if you wouldn't mind."

Alan nodded and leapt down the carriage steps before turning to her. "I will be in sight of you, but you won't see me." He held out his hand and helped her down, making sure she was settled before letting her go. He continued, "He's the last grave on the left, next to a grassy section. I didn't want him next to Lucille, but, that was how the plots were arranged for Sir James's family from the moment Thomas was born. We found it in at least three wills at Allerdale Hall. I can put the blanket over her gravestone if you wish?"

Edith shook her head, imagining a blanket-covered headstone drawing near her in her nightmares, "I don't want that to be a catalyst for nightmares. At least the ghosts I dream about have faces." She inhaled, then stepped forward crossing the threshold of red bricks and iron gate.

Her chest was tight, her forehead pinched with worry and anxiety, even her baby was still waiting to be reunited with it's family as she floated through the eerie headstones that felt like hands reaching out to her. She could barely hear Alan beside her, which made her feel even more confident about the manuscript in her purse.

"Topped with a cherub," She whispered to herself, "Black and white marble. Thomas and Carter Sharpe lie here together father and son. Topped… with a cherub…"

She stopped, seeing the grassy field Alan had told her about. Instantly, she clapped her hand over her mouth when she realized that it looked like the garden she had created for her daughter to play in in her alternate fantasy. She stepped forward, feeling it's presence like feeling heat from a fire, but couldn't look at it, not just yet. The grassy area was perfectly untouched, likely a Sharpe aristocratic requirement that only Sharpes and their wives be buried here, the last of the family tucked in nicely without disturbing this patch grass. Edith smiled at it, If there are no other family members to be buried, I could bring the baby and have picnics beside it's father and brother. The child could play and learn the story about how his parents fell in love, and were punished for it. She nodded. Yes, her baby could run around here, constantly watched by his father.

Edith inhaled and turned, seeing the beautiful black granite headstone framed by white cloud molding and Corinthian columns, a little boy cherubim looking fondly over an open book, a little lamb under it's arm. The grave itself was domed slightly from the interment, but grass was coming in nicely enough. Edith moved around to read the names carved on the glossy black surface, smiling at the grave's beauty, when she stopped dead.

In the center of the black granite, grew a small cluster of blue forget-me-nots. Seeing those little flowers beneath those names, Edith lost all feeling in her legs and collapsed, tears falling as quickly as she fell. Blood rushed her ears, she couldn't tell if Alan was behind her or in his post close to her; She did not care about his position near her, or even that she suddenly had his handkerchief in her hand. All that mattered was the symbolism and the name in front of her. Oh, how she wailed at the sight of his name on the headstone! She remembered seeing him walk into her father's engineering office, determined, nervous, not ready to fall in love and meet his fate.

It was because of her that he had died. It was because of her that he had so much hope to escape. Edith shook her head, feeling the weight of her manuscript on her arm. Lucille killed him because she was jealous! He had a reason to fight back, to want to escape. I just didn't save him when I could have.

Sobbing, body shaking with her blubbering, she reached out and traced his name with her finger:

Sir Thomas Sharpe

21st July, 1867- 14th November, 1901

Beloved Husband Too Soon Taken

Carter Sharpe

3rd January, 1902

Cherished Twin Watching Out For His Brother

Edith couldn't help but smile at Alan's hasty ordering. "Little One," She rubbed her stomach, feeling it flutter, "Your Godfather is in a heap of trouble if you're a girl."

She looked back to her husband's name and sighed, feeling her soul come forth when she opened her lips. "My darling Thomas. I didn't save you when I could have. They tell me that there was no way that I could have due to the sedatives I was taking. Some nonsense that enough time must have passed that I could have managed to fight Lucille." She shook her head and mopped her face with Alan's handkerchief. "It's a lie, I know that I could have pulled you into the elevator with me. I just wrote about it here," She placed her silk purse onto his grave, smoothing the fabric over the sheets. "I wrote about all the ways that I could have saved you." She cried for moments, remembering her words, her scenarios. "I love you." She confessed, "I wanted you from the moment I saw you, and loved you from the moment I heard your passion in your presentation. When we danced, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you…" She trailed off, heart and tears speaking louder than her lips.

"Oh my God," Alan gasped.

Edith looked up, seeing white smoke wisp above the top of the headstone. She looked up even further, and gasped, falling back on her rear, eyes wide.

Thomas, transparent, white, brown smoke coming from his cheek and his chest wafted before her, gold eyes soft. The only difference between his appearance now and when she first saw him in this form was that he now held his son in the crook of his arm. Their son was a miniscule baby no bigger than the length of the arm from elbow to wrist, but had a life of its own. Slowly, a smile curled onto Thomas's thin lips, almost as teasingly as when he and Edith courted. Edith heaved herself to her feet, a difficult task as Alan seemed to emulate a headstone character and stared, wide eyed, at his rival incarnate.

Edith looked him over, feeling within her chest the same amount of release as when she would see him after a long and arduous night of ghostly torment in Allerdale Hall. Her tears came slower, warmer, her heart thundering against her breast with love rather than fear. "Thomas," She breathed.

Slowly, his vaporous hand rose to her face and touched her cheek, cupping it. Edith leaned into it, longing to feel his touch but only felt frigid electricity. As she closed her eyes, she spoke the words her heart had badgered her to utter, "I forgive you." She opened her eyes, feeling the weight of a thousand years lift away from her shoulders. In her author's mind, she thought of her corset after a long day and finally pulling it off. She opened her eyes, locking onto the golden spheres before her, "I forgive you for lying. I forgive you for the poison. I'll never know exactly why you did those things, but I forgive you if that means I can move on. If not for me then for our babies." She looked down to the ghostly bundle he held, seeing the abnormally tiny baby snuggle into his arms. "He's so small."

Thomas dropped his hand and touched his son's face, making his arms and legs flutter. When he turned back to Edith, she could feel words, not her own, seep into her mind. "He loves you."

Carter reached out his ghostly hand, and Edith felt her baby kick and somersault, answering it's brother's call. Smiling, Edith touched his hand with her finger, doing her best to squeeze it when she might as well have been grasping fog. Thomas moved him back, soothing his arm with his finger. When he looked back to her, his face was different, firmer.

"You didn't save me."

Edith's tears burst forward, doubling over at the waist as she cried. "I'm sorry! I know I could have saved you! I didn't!" She looked into his gold eyes and told him again, "I'm so sorry!"

"STOP." The word was firm, yet kind. Edith stood upright, he shook his head. "No."

He came close to her, Carter fading from his middle so that he had both arms free. As delicately as possible, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face to hers. Edith felt like she was in a snowstorm looking through a foggy window to a grassy spot. But, what her mind saw was the first time she kissed Thomas, in the hotel in Buffalo after realizing that he loved and intended to marry her. The image faded, and she saw herself dressed entirely in white, veil covering her face, smiling from ear to ear coming towards her.

Suddenly, she realized that Thomas was trying to tell her something. He didn't regret a single thing that happened between them because he had her for however brief a time. Another memory, she was asleep in the master chamber of Allerdale Hall. Another memory, they kissed in his study, hungering for the other's touch. Another memory, her hands gliding over his as she treated a steam burn. Memory after memory, all Thomas's favorite moments with her. Edith opened her mouth, welcoming the cold electricity into her core, longing for more memories with him.

They separated, both looking into each other's eyes. He smiled, eyes soft, "Amor omnia vincit."

Edith smiled, "Love conquers all."

He nodded. "Take your manuscript with you. Keep me close."

"I will, certainly."

He turned his head, looking back at Alan who still stood stock still, face pale. "Don't deny my son a living father." Edith looked back to him, panicking. "I'll always be here. So will he. Our child won't remember this." He lifted his hands and touched her shoulders, fingers moving through her as though to prove a point. "We will always love each other. We will always remember."

Edith nodded, heart breaking. "I understand."

Thomas stepped back, eyes sweeping her frame one last time. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She breathed, leaning towards him.

A breeze slipped through the headstones, catching the smoke emitting from Thomas's body and blew him away, leaving Edith staring at the grassy area.

EEEEEE

Edith cried leaning next to Thomas's grave, mourning her love and her loss. Alan could barely be seen, either standing and waiting for her or standing still flabbergasted that she had kissed her ghost husband, she wasn't certain. All she knew was that when her tears finally stopped coming, she knew that she couldn't stay in the cemetery until kingdom come despite her longing to.

"Alan," She called, picking up her manuscript. Silence, he was still stunned. "Alan!"

"I'm coming, Edith." He rushed over, still ghastly white and shaking. "W-what is it?"

"I don't have a title for my manuscript." She lifted the silk purse dusted with dirt. "Every manuscript should be titled, regardless if it gets published or not."

Alan looked at the silk purse, hastily trying to remember its contents. "Well, it reminds me of a short story that I read while at school in London; It's called 'An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge'. It's the story of a Confederate soldier getting ready to be hung for his participation in the War, and he comes up with this vivid dream that he escapes the noose, swims away and goes home to his wife. But, the audience doesn't know that it's a dream until the noose tightens and the soldier realizes that he has been hung. An alternate reality story. Perhaps you should name the manuscript similarly?"

Edith nodded, rubbing her stomach. "An Occurrence at Allerdale Hall?"

Alan leaned back slightly, musing the title. "I'd read that."

She hesitated, feeling the weight of the pages. "Crimson Peak."

"Beg pardon?"

She leaned her head against the marble headstone. "I will title my take of the truth, what happened to me the year of my first marriage, Crimson Peak."

Alan all but jumped out of his skin. He nodded, trying to hide his elation, "Excellent, very good Edith! Um, you, uh, you don't have to use real names as characters. It's a separation technique, and it can be publishable that way. Yeah, revive Cavendish and Elizabeth… unless you want new names?"

Edith shook her head, "I can use them, again. Alan," She inhaled and closed her eyes, "I want to have the baby here in London. Then," She opened her eyes, "I want to go home to Buffalo."

Alan froze, his smile wiping from his face as though it had been slapped off. "Edith, you will be returning to Buffalo society as a widow with a bastard. Conceived in matrimony, yes, but your child will be born without a father."

She turned her head away from the headstone so that she couldn't see Thomas's name. "He doesn't have to be."

His heart visibly stopped, eyes widening the longer he stared at her. Edith felt numb, seeing him realize what she was saying. She loved Alan, but nowhere nearly as much as she did her former husband. But, she could not forget Thomas's concern for a good father for his baby in his absence. Alan would die for her, he had proven that already.

"No, he doesn't." Alan agreed, smile widening. Gently, he took her hand, and showed her eyes gleaming with tears. "Lady Edith Sharpe, would you-"

"Not. Here. Alan."

He flinched, worried the ghost of his rival would spring up and attack him. "Right! Well, may I escort you to our hotel?"

Edith nodded, heart aching, body tired. "I would like that."

Alan jumped to his feet and held out his hands, hoisting her to her feet. As they walked, arm-in-arm through the white and black marble headstones, wildflowers and grass fluttering in the breeze, Edith looked up at the freshly washed sky, feeling the cool breeze against her face. Her life was going to be vastly different with Alan, but it was for the better, she reasoned. She could feel joy begin to bubble, the feeling of grace flowing from crown to gait returning as it had been when she strolled with Thomas.

The gate to the Sharpe Plot swung shut with a creak and a clatter like a gunshot, making Edith jolt so hard she gave herself a crick in her neck. Alan stopped to reach up and massage her neck, smiling before wrapping his arm around her and walk away together, causing them to sway gently from side to side.

THE END


End file.
